THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


ECHOES  FROM  THE  PINES 


BY 

MARGARET  E.   JORDAN 


"  Before  me  rose  an  avenue 
Of  tall  and  sombrous  pines. 

"  The  green  trees  whispered  low  and  mild, 
It  was  a  sound  of  joy." 

LONGFELLOW  :    Voices  of  the  Night. 


PORTLAND,    ME. 

McGOWAN     AND     YOUNG 

422  CONGRESS  STREET 


Copyright, 
BY  MARGARET  E.  JORDAN. 


B.  THURSTON  &  Co., 
Printers  and  Stereotypers, 

POBTLAND,  ME. 


htlofefc  <f  a%r  anb 


Thanks  are  returned  to  Rev.  D.  E.  Hudson, 
C.  S.  C.,  of  the  Ay E  MARIA,  and  D.  O'Lough- 
lin,  Esq.,  of  the  CATHOLIC  HERALD,  for  per 
mission  to  include  in  this  collection  poems  of 
mine  which  have  appeared  in  publications 
copyrighted  ly  them. 


PS 

2152 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Echoes, 7 

Mary  in  Bethlehem, 9 

On  Cape  Elizabeth, 10 

Gethsemane, n 

The  Prisoner  of  Love,     .        .        , 12 

The  Sanctuary  Light, 13 

The  Broken  Troth, 14 

Am&lie  Lautard, 16 

Leave  their  Fair  Fatherland, 22 

The  Guardian's  Wooing, 27 

Beautiful  Isles  of  the  Shoals, 31 

The  Old,  Old  Story, 33 

St.  Joseph's  Lilies, 35 

'T  is  No  Disgrace  to  be  Irish, 38 

Kitty's  Ruse,             41 

Devotion  of  the  Month  of  Mary, 44. 

The  Heart  of  the  Sacred  Host,       .        .         ,        .        .        .48 

Le  Bon  Dieu, 51 

The  Bridal, 55 

The  Crowning  Sacrifice, 57 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  Passeth  by, 61 

A  Call  to  the  Cloister, 63 

O  Jesu  Mi, 67 

A  Cozy  Little  Home  and  a  Loving  Little  Wife,           .        .  69 

Aftei  the  Consecration, 71 


CONTENTS. 


The  Shivered  Glass, 75 

A  Golden  Jubilee,            .        ...        v        ...  76 

Called  and  Chosen,      ........  So 

Kathleen  and  Jamie,        .         .         .         .         .         .         .         -85 

Divine  Retribution 89 

Saint  Teresa,  ..........  92 

A  Tribute  to  Dr.  E.  P.  LeProhon, 95 

The  Month  of  the  Angels, 99 

The  Month  of  the  Holy  Souls, 101 

Our  Lady  of  Lourdes, 104 

St.  Dominic's  Church, 106 

A  Bit  of  Advice,      .........  109 

The  Old  Church  and  the  New, no 

Jesus  and  Mary, 113 

The  Three  Kisses, 116 

On  a  Picture  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen, 1 18 

The  Burden  of  the  Day, 120 

The  Haven  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 122 

Hidden  Lives, 126 

The  Ave  Maria 128 

Gathered  Leaves, 130 

In  Heaven, 133 

A  Name, 134 

Henry  W.  Longfellow *        .  135 

An  Evening  Visit  to  the  Blessed  Sacrament,        .        .        .138 


ECHOES. 

Thro1  lofty  pines  that  emerald  crested  stand 
''Mid  winter's  snow  and  summer's  burning  sun, 
There  comes  a  voice,  a  strange,  deep  holy  One ;  — 
The  soul  doth  thrill,  the  throbbing  heart  expand — 
The  Voice  is  God*s  Voice  breathed  o'er  sea  and  land. 
From  the  gray  dawn  until  the  day  is  done, 
Thro1  star-lit  or  storm-clouded  night,  roll  on 
Deep  echoes,  mystical  and  pure  and  grand. 
Proclaiming  Great  Jehovah  throned  on  high  ; 
Emmanuel,  —  love  overpowering  might ! — 
The  Spirit  vivifying  heaven  and  earth. 
Stirs  a  new  life  as  roll  these  echoes  by : 
The  Poet-soul  in  travail  of  delight 
Unto  a  living,  heaven-breathed  Thought  gives  birth. 


MARY  IN  BETHLEHEM. 

A  lonely  cave  just  out  of  Bethlehem. 

In  a  cleft  rock  a  fagot  burns ;  behold  ! 

'Neath  the  rude  glare  doth  shine  the  burnished  gold 

Of  Mary's  tresses.     Rarest  diadem  ! 

One  day  to  gleam  with  many  a  precious  gem 

Of  wondrous  lustre  and  of  worth  untold  : 

Rubies  and  pearls  —  Christ's  blood  and  tears  !  .  .  . 

The  cold 

Night  wind,  grown  tender,  softly  swayeth  them  — 
Fair  unbound  tresses  !  In  sweet  rapture  we 
Behold  the  virgin  blush  on  Mary's  cheek ; 
The  love-light  in  her  eye ;  on  pure  lips,  dumb 
With  joy,  a  heaven-bright  smile  of  ecstasy. 
Maid-Mother  mild !  the  Christ-babe  whom  we  seek 
Lies  cradled  in  thine  arms ;  to  thee  we  come  ! 
Venite  adoremus  Dominum  ! 


ON  CAPE  ELIZABETH. 

Deep  azure  wrought  with  threads  of  golden  sheen,  • 

Silvery-gray  the  interlining  fair,  — 
Earth's  cloud-robe  floats  adown  a  sea  of  air. 
Rests  the  deep  ocean  tranquilly  between 
Cliffs  of  dulse  brown  and  isles  of  emerald  green. 
Sere  willows,  pensive,  bow ;  in  vesture  rare 
Proud  oaks  attend  the  queenly  maple ;  there 
The  pine  reigns  monarch  of  the  sylvan  scene. 
Yon  skiffs,  the  ocean's  white-robed  children,  sleep, 
Nor  toss  in  slumber  in  her  fondling  arms. 
Poised  on  the  main  birds  rest  on  southward  flight. 
Peace  hovers,  pinions  spread,  o'er  land  and  deep, 
Her  wings  soft  zephyrs  lulling  hearts'  alarms. 
So  rests  the  Finite  in  the  Infinite. 


GETHSEMANE. 

The  moaning  night  wind  touched  with  trembling  hand 

The  olive  trees,  harps  of  Gethsemane  ! 

Still  slumbered,  heavy-eyed,  the  chosen  three, 

John,  James,  and  Peter  who  had  vowed  to  stand 

Unshaken  midst  the  Apostolic  Band. 

"  What !  Could  ye  not  watch  one  hour  with  Me  ?  " 

The  night  wind  played  a  sad,  sad  melody, 

And  Jesus'  voice,  uprising  pure  and  grand, 

In  mournful  cadence  fell  and  died  away. 

And  still  that  awful  agony  went  on  ; 

Moaned  the  night  wind  to  hear  His  weary  moan  ! 

Three  had  He  chosen,  there  to  watch  and  pray, 

But  they  had  slumbered :  Peter,  James,  and  John  I 

And  Jesus  kept  His  weary  watch  ALONE! 


THE  PRISONER  OF  LOVE.* 

TO  A   FRIEND   IN   THE  PRIESTHOOD. 

There  is  on  earth  an  humble  little  cell, 
Holy  it  is,  and  oh !  how  dear  to  thee. 
At  Mass,  when  rings  the  sweet  communion  bell, 
Near  it  art  thou  as  only  priest  may  be, 
Kneeling  in  reverent  love,  adoring  fear. 
So  bend  celestial  hosts  in  realms  above. 
God  they  adore ;  the  self-same  God  is  here 
Imprisoned,  and  His  chains  were  forged  by  love. 
Victim  and  Victor !  chained  and  throned  is  He ! 
In  peace  'mid  earth's  alarms  't  is  thine  to  dwell, 
Near  unto  Him,  how  fondly  served  by  thee  ; 
GOD  chained  and  throned  in  Tabernacle  cell. 


•An  acrostic:  the  first  downward  line  of  letters  forms  the  "  very  mean- 
ing  of  the  word  Eucharist." 


THE   SANCTUARY  LIGHT.* 

TO   A  YOUNG   FRIEND. 

Thro'  the  lone  hours  when  the  blushing  day 
Hides  'neath  the  jeweled  vesture  of  the  night, 
As  tho'  in  grateful  love  the  crimson  light 
Near  unto  Christ  consumes  its  life  away, 
Keeping  fond  vigil  all  unconsciously. 
So,  too,  would  I,  that  thy  young  soul  might  keep 
Glad  vigil  there,  the  while  refreshing  sleep 
Imparts  new  strength  for  labor  unto  thee. 
Vain  are  earth's  joys  !  O  with  the  "  Turtle  dove  " 
I  'd  have  thee  in  the  "  Rocky  clift "  to  hide, 
Near  His  dear  Heart  whence  flows  the  saving  tide, 
Giving  thee  strength  to  mount  the  heights  of  love. 

*  An  acrostic:  the  first  downward  line  of  letters  forms  the  "  very  mean 
ing  of  the  word  Eucharist." 


A   BROKEN  TROTH. 

Why  had  she  never  wed  ?  still  bright  and  fair, 
(And  this  e'en  worldly  beauties  did  allow,) 
Tho'  five  and  thirty  years  upon  her  brow 
Had  traced,  in  passing,  many  a  line  of  care, 
And  wrought  amid  the  gold-brown  of  her  hair 
Many  a  silver  thread.     "  Some  youthful  vow 
Binds  her  to  God  ;  He,  grateful,  doth  endow 
Her  virgin  heart  with  graces  rich  and  rare." 
Thus  many  thought.     All  loved  the  gentle  one 
Who  labored  in  their  midst,  each  passing  day, 
Winning  the  meed  of  praise  divine  :  "  Well  done." 
Thus  in  her  quiet  unassuming  way, 
She  went  about  for  Love's  sake  doing  good  — 
Not  much  each  day,  mayhap,  but  all  she  could. 


A   BROKEN'  TROTH. 


Her  story  was  not  unto  all  denied  : 

A  love  troth  fondly  plighted  years  before, 

A  slight  misunderstanding  —  nothing  more  — 

Yet  she,  in  wounded  love  and  haughty  pride, 

A  loving,  loyal  heart  had  cast  aside, 

And  earthly  bliss  became  "  a  dream  of  yore." 

How  oft  a  break  that  one  word  might  bridge  o'er, 

Unspanned,  becomes  a  chasm  deep  and  wide  ! 

And  this  her  vow  :  "  To  give  unto  God's  Poor, 

Wealth,  labor,  life  ;  and  for  atonement's  sake 

Each  bitter  word  in  meekness  to  endure, 

Till  in  a  brighter  world  love's  dawn  shall  break." 

Atoning  thus  she  toiled  till  work  was  done, 

And  toiling,  lo  !  a  love  divine  was  won. 


i6 


AMELIE    LAUTARD.* 

No  longer  shone  the  sun  of  peace 

Upon  St.  Peter's  dome  ; 
Dark  days  had  dawned  on  Mother  Church, 

Dark  days  had  dawned  on  Rome  ; 
Dark  days  for  every  heart  that  called 

Th'  Eternal  City,  home. 

'T  was  in  the  midst  of  fierce  alarms, 

While  riot  reigned  at  will, 
A  whisper  breathed  from  lip  to  lip, 

"  Pius  the  Ninth  is  ill," 
Woke  in  one  heart  a  strange  desire, 

That  death  alone  could  fill. 

•This  miraculous  death  occurred  in  Rome  December,  1866. 


AMELIE  LAUTARD.  17 

"  Is  it  a  voice  from  heaven,"  she  cried, 

Or  wily  tempter's  snare  ?  — 
This  strange,  strange  thought  that  frightens  me, 

That  frames  itself  in  prayer : 
"  Father  of  Love  !  smite  me  with  death 

But  oh,  thy  Vicar  spare  1 " 

(Obedience !  God's  crucible 

Wherein  these  things  are  tried,  — 
The  gold  of  true  humility 

Freed  from  the  dross  of  pride ; 
Soul  yearnings  after  heavenly  things 

Tempered  and  purified.) 

Before  the  Sovereign  Pontiff  knelt 

The  "  Child  of  Rome  "  that  day, 
Yearning  with  warm  life  of  her  heart 

Her  vows  of  love  to  pay, 
Yet  willing  at  his  word  to  cast 

Her  fond  desire  away. 

With  throbbing  heart  and  trembling  voice, 
Amelie,  kneeling  there, 


i8  AMELIE  LAUTARD. 

Revealed  to  him  the  strange  desire 

Framing  itself  in  prayer, 
That  God  would  soon  smite  her  with  death 

His  life  for  years  to  spare. 

He  gazed  upon  her,  then  in  prayer 
Raised  features  grand  and  mild  ; 

In  blessing  laid  his  holy  hands 
Upon  her  head  and  smiled  ; 

"  The  Holy  Spirit  speaks,"  said  he, 
"  Obey  His  voice,  my  child." 

9 

Swift  waned  the  day.     A  few  short  notes 

She  wrote  of  glad  farewell. 
Wrote  kindly  of  her  "dear  Zouaves"  — 

Nor  voice  save  heaven's  may  tell 
The  love  she  bore  them  who  for  Christ 

So  nobly  fought  or  fell 

Next  morn,  when  in  her  virgin  heart 
Reposed  the  Spouse  of  Love, 

The  yearning  of  her  soul,  as  sweet 
As  plaint  of  turtle  dove, 


AMELIE  LAUTARD.        .  19 

Arose  upon  the  wings  of  prayer 
E'en  to  the  Throne  above. 

And  God  the  Father,  looking  down 

Upon  His  well  loved  Son, 
Reposing  in  Amelie's  heart  — 

That  tried  and  faithful  one  ! 
Blessed  with  accomplishment  the  deed 

She  prayed  Him  might  be  done. 

She  fell  in  agonizing  pain 

Before  the  altar  there  : 
Friends  raised  her  up  and  bore  her  home  — 

Still  moved  her  lips  in  prayer  : 
She  blessed  God  who  had  stricken  her; 

His  Vicar's  life  to  spare. 

Three  days  the  agony  of  death 

Held  her  pure  soul  in  thrall ; 
Speechless  thro'  suffering  was  she, 

Yet  smiling  bore  it  all, 
Awaiting  in  her  own  sweet  way 

The  Master's  final  call. 


20  AMELIE  LAUTARD. 

When  once  again  within  her  heart 

Reposed  the  Crucified, 
Lo  !  suffering  vanished  and  the  gates 

Of  heaven  opened  wide ; 
When  breathed  God's  minister :  "  Depart, 

O  Christian  soul !  "  she  died. 

And  when  her  death  was  told  to  him 
For  whom  her  life  was  given, 

"  So  soon  accepted  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
And  bowed  'neath  will  of  Heaven. 

Ah  me  !  his  heavy  cross  :  to  steer 
The  Bark  of  Christ  storm-driven. 

Loving  ones  bore  her  to  the  tomb 

O'er  ways  she  oft  had  trod  ; 
No  De  Profundus  chanted  they, 

But  all  with  one  accord 
Entoned  a  grand  Magnificat, 

And  sang  the  praise  of  God. 

O  holy  life  !  O  happy  death  I 
O  blessed  eternity ! 


AMELIE  LAUTARD. 


To  live  long  years  for  Christ,  to  die 

For  the  Apostolic  See! 
Amelie  !  heart  hath  ne'er  conceived 

The  joys  of  heaven  for  thee  ! 

Was  she  some  sheltered,  cloister  flower, 

This  soul  of  Sacrifice  ? 
Nay ;  mid  the  thorns  of  life  she  grew, 

'Neath  Marseilles' azure  skies, 
Culled  by  the  hand  of  God  from  earth 

To  bloom  in  Paradise. 


LEAVE  THEIR  FAIR  FATHERLAND. 

It  has  been  said,  over  and  over  again,  in  the  British 
kingdom,  and  the  saying  has  been  echoed  and  re 
echoed  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  great 
Republic,  that  "Emigration  is  the  only  panacea  for 
Ireland."  Do  they  who  offer  her  this  as  a  means  of 
relief  ever  estimate  the  amount  of  suffering  which  the 
acceptance  of  it  must  entail  ?  Do  they  realize  what  it 
is  to  sever  the  holiest  ties  of  kindred,  to  kneel  for  the 
last  time  at  a  cherished  shrine,  to  tear  one's  self  away 
with  a  breaking  heart  from  a  parent's  grave  ?  In  the 
full  enjoyment  of  liberty  as  they  are,  can  they  not 
appreciate  the  yearnings  of  the  Irish  for  freedom  ?  Can 
they  not  realize  how  many  noble  aspirations  of  patri 
otism  are  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  domestic  affection, 
when,  for  the  sake  of  loved  ones  dependent  upon  them, 

they  cross  the  broad  Atlantic,  and  vow  allegiance  to 
I 


LEAVE    THEIR   FAIR    FATHERLAND.  23 

an  adopted  country,  while  their  native  land  lies  in  suf 
fering  and  chains? 

Leave  the  fair  land  of  their  fathers, 

The  graves  of  their  grandsires  —  for  what  ? 
Have  ye  not  hearts  in  your  bosoms, 

Or  think  ye  the  Irish  have  not  ? 
When  sounded  our  trumpet  of  battle, 

Were  they  cravens  ?  nay,  bravest  of  men  ! 
And  they  fought  till  the  "  stars  "  rose  in  triumph 

Never  to  vanish  again. 

"  Leave  the  fair  land  of  thy  fathers, 

Nor  struggle  again  to  be  free  ; 
Leave  her  in  suffering  and  sorrow 

The  Emerald  Isle  of  the  sea ! 
Pluck  from  her  bosom  a  shamrock, 

And  gather  a  handful  of  earth  — 
Trample  thy  manhood  beneath  thee  — 

Flee  from  the  land  of  thy  birth  I 

"  Flee  like  a  culprit  from  justice  ; 
Flee  like  a  craven  thro'  fear ; 


24  LEAVE    THEIR   FAIR   FATHERLAND. 

Brave  not  the  perils  before  thee  "  — 

What  is  this  counsel  I  hear  ? 
Speak  ye  such  word  to  the  Irish  ? 

Ye  know  them  not :  courage  have  they 
Who  learn  at  the  cross  how  to  suffer, 

Who  daily  tread  Calvary's  way. 

There  rs  a  germ  in  the  hearts  of  the  Irish  — 

'T  was  God  that  implanted  it  there. 
By  tear-drops  and  life-blood  't  is  watered, 

'Tis  strengthened  by  waiting  and  prayer; 
'T  is  the  fond  love  of  their  country ; 

They  yearn  her  green  flag  to  behold 
Proudly  unfurling  the  sunburst, 

The  harp,  and  the  shamrock  of  gold. 

Leaving  the  land  of  their  fathers 
And  crossing  the  billowy  foam, 

They  find  in  America  labor, 

That  wins  for  the  toiler  a  home. 

Broad  the  expanse  of  the  prairies 

And  all  are  made  welcome,  't  is  true, — 


LEAVE    THEIR    FAIR    FATHERLAND.  25 

But  the  "  Sunburst"  ne'er  shines  in  the  heavens 
With  the  "stars"  of  the  "red,  white  and  blue." 

There  are  fertile  luxuriant  valleys 

In  the  Emerald  Isle  of  the  sea, 
And  her  sons  are  as  sturdy  and  willing 

As  till  these  broad  lands  of  the  free. 
Then  cease  this  wild  cry  "  EMIGRATION," 

Columbia  fought  a  brave  fight  — 
She  conquered  —  and  Erin  will  conquer^ 

For  freedom's  a  God-given  right. 

Oh,  a  great  and  a  holy  endeavor 

Stirs  the  heart  of  dear  Erin  to-day  ; 
She  would  gather  her  children  around  her, 

Fold  them  close  to  her  bosom  for  aye. 
Thro'  life  she  would  nurture  them  fondly 

And  cheer  them  in  wearisome  toil ; 
In  death  close  their  eyes  with  soft  kisses, 

Lay  them  sleeping  in  saint-hallowed  soil. 

Courage,  O  Erin,  dear  country  ! 

Thy  harpstrings  shall  vibrate  again  ; 


26  LEAVE    THEIR    FAIR    FATHERLAND. 

The  sunburst  dispel  these  dark  shadows ; 

The  shamrocks  bloom  free  on  the  glen  ; 
Thy  God-given  rights  be  untrammeled  ; 

Thy  shrines  and  thy  hearthstones  be  free  ; 
And  thy  flag  shall  wave  o'er  thee  in  triumph 

O  Erin,  fair  isle  of  the  sea ! 


THE   GUARDIAN'S  WOOING. 

"  'T  is  only  a  lovers'  slight  quarrel, 

'T  will  soon  be  all  over,"  she  said, 
With  a  ripple  of  merriest  laughter, 

A  toss  of  the  sunny  brown  head. 
Yet  I,  who  so  tenderly  loved  her, 

A  wail  in  the  merriment  heard  ; 
I  knew  in  her  heart  she  was  weeping, 

So  long  was  his  coming  deferred. 

The  latch  often  lifted  at  even, 

The  gate  swinging  back  as  of  yore  ; 
The  step  on  the  pathway  approaching, — 

But  never  the  rap  on  the  door  ! 
'T  was  Harry,  her  brother,  how  foolish 

To  think  it  was  Willie  again  ! 
For  after  each  flutter  of  pleasure 

Throbbed  faster  the  heart  in  its  pain. 


38  THE  GUARDIANS  WOOING. 

I  watched  the  fair  blossom  I  cherished 

Becoming  more  fragile  each  day, 
And  strove  to  keep  guarded  my  secret ; 

Why  should  n't  I  ?  Wrinkled  and  gray, 
My  life  nearly  verging  on  autumn, — 

Yet  cried  I :  "  O  Time  on  the  wing  ! 
Bear  me  backward  till  with  my  heart's  darling 

I  bask  in  the  fragrance  of  spring !  " 

One  day  an  old  friend  gently  told  me 

A  wedding  in  town  he  had  seen  ; 
The  bride  was  an  heiress,  the  bridegroom 

My  Ethelyn's  lover  had  been. 
He  sought  to  give  comfort,  ne'er  dreaming 

Of  hopes  that  arose  in  my  breast ; 
My  secret  well  guarded,  no  stranger, 

Nor  even  my  darling,  had  guessed. 

I  broke  the  sad  news  to  her  kindly  ; 

The  draught  was  less  bitter,  I  think, 
Than  though  't  was  a  strange  hand  that  gave  her 

The  chalice  of  sorrow  to  drink. 


THE  GUARDIAN'S  WOOING.  29 

I  saw  that  the  tears  were  swift  gathering 
And  knew  they  would  lighten  her  grief : 

Like  raindrops  the  burnt  earth  refreshing, 
Tears  give  the  seared  heart  a  relief. 

Months  passed ;  all  shade  of  the  sorrow 
Had  vanished,  sweet  peace  was  bestowed, 

And  happiness  shone  on  the  features 
Where  once  her  heart's  gayety  glowed. 

One  evening  I  told  her  my  secret ; 

How  dreary  my  life-time  would  be 
If  ever  the  right  to  protect  her 

Were  given  to  other  than  me. 
I  spoke  in  deep,  tremulous  accents, 

Preparing  all  hope  to  resign, 
She  answered  :  "  You  've  told  me  your  secret 

Dear  Guardy,  now  try  to  guess  mine  i  " 

The  tremulous  whisper,  the  eyelids 

Cast  downward,  the  flush  on  her  cheek 

Betrayed  my  dear  Ethelyn's  secret, 
And  gave  me  new  courage  to  speak. 


30  THE  GUARDIAN'S  WOOING. 

Though,  I  am  fast  verging  on  autumn, 
And  she  in  the  springtime  of  life, 

Our  story  of  love  is  unfolded, — 
Ethelyn,  my  ward,  is  my  wife. 


SONG. 

BEAUTIFUL  ISLES  OF  THE  SHOALS. 
Air:  "Beautiful  Isle  of  the  Sea.1' 

Beautiful  Isles  of  the  Shoals, 

Rising  from  midst  of  the  ocean, 
Gazing  upon  you,  our  souls 

Swell  with  the  deepest  emotion. 
Silver  and  azure  your  skies  ; 

Pure  are  the  winds  that  caress  you  ; 
Foamy  the  billows  that  rise 

In  their  wild  voice  to  address  you. 

CHORUS. 

Beautiful  Isles  of  the  Shoals  ! 

Rising  from  midst  of  the  ocean, 
Thrilling  with  grandeur  our  souls, 

Beautiful,  beautiful  Isles  of  the  Shoals ! 


32  SONG. 

Beautiful  Isle  of  the  "  Star," 

Fairest  of  all  these  fair  islands, 
Out  in  the  ocean  afar, 

Stretching  thy  proud  rocky  highlands ; 
While  standing  on  thee,  we  gaze 

Far  o'er  the  deep  rolling  ocean  — 
Minds  fill  with  deepest  amaze  ; 

Souls,  with  the  deepest  devotion. 

CHORUS. 
Beautiful  Isles  of  the  Shoals,  etc. 

Fair  art  thou,  Isle  of  the  "  Star  "  ! 

Seen  'neath  the  sun's  brightest  beaming ; 
Fair,  when  he  sheds  from  afar 

O'er  thee  his  last  lingering  gleaming ; 
Fair,  when  the  dark  midnight  skies 

Show  forth  their  silvery  lining  ; 
And  when  the  moon  doth  arise, 

Proud  in  her  glorious  shining. 

CHORUS, 
Beautiful  Isles  of  the  Shoals,  etc. 


33 


THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY. 

A  meeting  in  the  hush  of  even 

While  bright  stars  gem  the  vault  of  heaven  ; 

The  sweet  old  story  told  once  more, 

New  love  vows  plighted  o'er  and  o'er  .... 

Deep  blushes  on  a  lassie's  face, 

A  proud  light  in  a  laddie's  eye, 

A  flower-strewn  church,  a  white-robed  priest, 

A  question  and  a  soft  reply  ^ 

A  little  shining  golden  band 

Upon  a  bride's  fair  dimpled  hand. 

A  quiet  wedding,  ....  all  is  o'er, 
The  world  goes  onward  as  before  ; 
Two  loving  hearts  are  bound  in  one, 
A  wedded  life  hath  just  begun. 
3 


34  THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY. 

Henceforth  one  purpose,  one  desire, 
One  pathway,  be  it  bright  or  dim  ; 
Not  his  will  given  up  to  her, 
Nor  hers  surrendered  unto  him : 
Blend  both  in  one,  thro'  weal  or  woe, 
And  God's  design  is  wrought  below. 


35 


ST.  JOSEPH'S  LILIES. 

From  out  the  heart  of  Mother  Church, 

That  ever-fruitful  ground, 
Spring  forth  the  flowers  of  praise  and  love 

As  each  dear  feast  comes  round. 

When,  in  their  flight,  chill  wintry  days 
The  sweet  "  Espousals  "  bring, 

A  rod  once  barren  we  behold 
With  strange  life  blossoming. 

Laden  with  petals  wondrous  fair, 

And  stamens  of  bright  gold, 
How  marvellous  the  destiny 

Its  fragrant  bloom  foretold ! 

Within  the  holy  Temple  dwelt 
A  Maiden  fair  to  see ; 


sr.  JOSEPITS  LILIES. 


"  Pure  as  the  breath  of  God  "  :  conceived 
Immaculate  was  She. 

Many  a  noble  suitor  came 

To  claim  the  Maiden's  hand, 
And  at  her  virgin  feet  laid  down 

The  treasures  of  the  land. 

One  amid  the  princely  throng 

Brought  no  rare  gift  to  her, 
Save  the  treasure  of  a  virgin  heart,  — 

Joseph,  the  carpenter. 

Thus  spake  the  guardians  of  the  Maid  : 

"  Who  is  the  choice  of  God  ? 
Behold  He  speaks  in  miracles  — 

Bring  each  a  barren  rod  : 

"  He  whose  bare  branch  shall  bring  forth  flowers, 

The  Virgin's  spouse  shall  be." 
And  lo  !  't  was  holy  Joseph's  bloomed  : 

Chosen  of  God  was  he  { 


ST.  JOSEPH'S  LILIES.  37 

Hail,  fragrant  bloom  !  hail,  virgin  heart ! 

Hail,  miracle  sublime ! 
Each  year  when  this  dear  Feast  comes  round, 

E'en  to  the  end  of  time, 

This  sweet  tradition  lips  shall  tell, 

Blessing  the  power  of  God, 
Who  brought  these  lilies  wondrous  fair 

Forth  from  a  barren  rod. 


'T  IS  NO  DISGRACE  TO  BE  IRISH. 

'T  was  no  disgrace  to  be  Irish 

In  the  far-famed  days  of  old, 
When  the  tale  of  our  redemption 

In  Tara's  halls  was  told. 
When  the  holy  feet  of  Saint  Patrick 

Blessed  the  land  whose  soil  they  trod, 
And  a  pathway  traced,  never  yet  effaced, 

From  Ireland  to  God. 

'T  was  no  disgrace,  when  the  jewel 

Of  learning,  rich  and  rare, 
Was  set  in  the  priceless  setting 

Of  Erin's  homes  of  prayer. 
When  the  sons  of  noble  races 

Flocked  to  the  emerald  shore, 
And  a  halo  of  fame  crowned  Erin's  name,  — 

The  light  of  her  wondrous  lore. 


TSS  A'O  DISGRACE   TO  BE  IRISH.  39 

'T  was  no  disgrace  for  poor  Ireland, 

Tho'  her  robe  of  emerald  green 
Was  steeped  in  the  flood  of  her  children's  blood,  — 

Thrice  bitter  days,  I  ween  !  — 
When  the  hearts  of  her  noblest  sons  were  torn 

On  the  rack  of  English  hate, 
And  her  altar  shrines  to  the  winds  consigned 

In  the  days  of  "  Ninety-eight." 

'T  is  no  disgrace  to  be  Irish, 

Tho'  the  wolf  of  famine  roams 
Over  their  mountains  and  valleys, 

Stands  gaunt  in  the  midst  of  their  homes. 
Ah  me!  full  many  have  perished 

In  the  wild  and  wearisome  strife  ; 
But  death  is  a  threshold  :  we  cross  it 

To  enter  the  mansion  of  life. 

'T  is  no  disgrace  to  be  Irish, 

Or  to  bear  the  faith  to-day, 
That  Ireland's  sons  have  cherished 

Thro'  many  a  weary  way. 


40  'TIS  NO  DISGRACE  TO  BE  IRISH. 

What !  a  disgrace  to  be  Irish  • 

A  pride  and  a  joy  let  it  be  ! 
More  than  fortune  or  fame,  prize  the  faith  and  the  name 

Of  the  Saint  hallowed  isle  of  the  sea. 


KITTY'S  RUSE. 

"  O  Jamie,  come  and  help  me,  come  help  me,  Jamie 
dear, 

'T  is  queer  the  butter  plagues  me  whenever  you-  are 
here. 

'Where  am  I  ? '    In  the  dairy  and  tired  as  I  can  be," 

Cries  bonny  Kitty  Gray  to  her  lover  Jamie  Lee. 

"  Last  week  I  churned  an  hour,  there  's  mischief  some 
where  in  it — 

The  butter  wouldn't  come  for  me  —  you  brought  it  in 
a  minute ! " 

"  Kitty,  heart's    love,    I  'm  sorry  the   butter  plagues 

you  so." 
"  O  Jamie  Lee,  't  is  teasing  you  my  sister  is,  I  know. 


42  KITTY'S  RUSE. 


You  would  n't  think  she  'd  do  so,  but,  Jamie  dear,  she 

will ;  " 
Cries   Bob,  of  ten   bright   summers   perched  on   the 

window-sill. 
"She's  only  just  begun — ha,  ha!    there   would   be 

mischief  in  it, 
To  see  cream  turn  to  butter  before  it 's  churned  a 

minute." 

"Bob  speaks  the  truth,  dear  Kitty,  your  blushes  tell 
me  so ; 

I  did  n't  think  your  true  heart  could  bear  to  tease  me, 
tho'. 

How  could  you?"  queries  Jamie — sweet  Kitty  droops 
her  eyes, 

Twirls  her  apron  round  her  ringers  and  with  naivete 
replies : 

"  I  guess  —  there  was  —  a  mixture  of  love  —  and  mis 
chief  in  it  — 

I  wanted — just  to  speak  to  you  —  if  only  for  a  minute." 

Well,  Jamie  did  the  churning,  while  Kitty  hovered  nigh, 
Her  dimpled  cheeks  like  roses,  a  sparkle  in  her  eye, 


KITTY'S  RUSE.  43 


And  Jamie   made    love    speeches    while    Kitty   stood 

demure ; 

Ah  !  both  the  lad  and  lassie  were  very  glad,  I  'm  sure, 
That,  'twixt  the  love  and  mischief  sly  Kitty  said  was 

in  it, 
The  butter  did  n't  come  for  an  hour  and  a  minute  1 


44 


DEVOTION  OF  THE  MONTH  OF  MARY. 

Ages  ago  from  the  store  of  God 
An  angel  bore  a  holy  thought ; 
In  a  human  heart  upturned  the  sod 
And  sowed  the  little  seed  he  brought. 

It  took  deep  root,  ere  iong  it  grew, 

And  in  May's  fairest  opening  hours, 

While  leaves  were  crowned  with  heavenly  dew, 

Bless'd  Suso  culled  the,  first  sweet  flowers. 

How  oft  did  he  for  Mary  twine 
Thro'  this  fair  month  rose-garlands  sweet, 
And  crown'd  her  brow,  and  deck'd  her  shrine, 
And  laid  fresh  blossoms  at  her  feet ! 


DEVOTION  OF  THE  MONTH  OF  MARY.         45 

The  white-robed  Friar  passed  away, 
Yet  evermore  the  rare  plant  grew, 
And  bore  its  sweetest  flowers  in  May, 
Yet  blossom'd  all  the  whole  year  thro'. 

Flourished  'neath  heaven's  unceasing  care  ; 
And,  pruned  by  tender,  rev'rent  hands, 
The  branches  carried  everywhere 
Took  root  in  many  distant  lands. 

Deep  set  in  martyr-hallowed  sod, 
Blooming  where  balmy  zephyrs  blow, 
Perfection  crown'd  this  growth  of  God 
A  hundred  fruitful  years  ago  I 

From  May's  bright  dawning  to  its  dose, 
Behold  \  on  incense  laden  air 
'Mid  light  and  song  and  bloom  uprose 
To  Mary's  throne  unceasing  prayer  \ 

O  holy  thought!  (the  fruitful  seed,) 
O  virgin  heart i  (the  fertile  soil,) 


46         DEVOTION  OF  THE  MONTH  OF  MARY. 

Sweet  May  devotion,  flowery  meed 
Rewarding  years  of  prayerful  toil ! 

Hail  fair  Italia,  praise  be  thine  ! 
Ferrara !  glory  unto  thee  ! 
Hail  Madonnina,  humble  shrine, 
Henceforth  exalted  thou  shalt  be  ! 

A  hundred  fruitful  years  have  sped  — 
Behold,  upon  this  fair  May-day, 
The  sweet  devotion  world  wide  spread, 
And  Mary  crowned  the  Queen  of  May  ! 

Thro'  this  sweet  month,  O  Virgin  blest, 
With  holy  hymns  of  jubilee, 
From  north  to  south  from  east  to  west, 
Love  keeps  a  glad  centenary. 

**  How  sad  't  would  be,"  our  fond  hearts  say, 

"To  see  our  Mother's  days  depart, 

Only  comes  then  to  us  alway 

The  month  of  Jesus'  Sacred  Heart." 


DEVOTION  OF  THE  MONTH  OF  MARY.          47 

Oh,  with  sweet  hymns  we  breathe  "  Farewell," 
Dear  month  of  Mary,  unto  thee, 
Yet  long  within  our  hearts  will  dwell 
The  joys  of  this  centenary. 


In  the  fourteenth  century,  Blessed  Henry  Suso, 
with  rose  garlands  and  myrtle  branches  decked  the 
shrine  of  Mary  during  the  month  of  May.  Through 
centuries  pious  souls,  here  and  there,  followed  the 
tender  practice.  It  was  during  the  year  1774,  one  hun 
dred  years  ago,  that,  in  the  little  church  of  the  Ma- 
donnina,  Ferrara,  Italy,  the  private  devotion  of  loving 
hearts  became  an  act  of  public  veneration,  and  before 
long  reached  its  full  development  in  the  universal 
Devotion  of  the  Month  of  Mary. 

May  31,  1884. 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  SACRED  HOST. 

Ecce  Agnus  Dei,  ecce  qui  tollis  peecata  mundi, 

A  little  Host,  white  as  the  driven  snow, 

Is  all  mine  eyes  can  see ; 
And  yet  it  holds  a  living  Heart,  I  know, 

Throbbing  unceasingly. 

Heart  of  the  One  eternal  Triune  God, 

Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 
As  God  and  Man,  by  heaven  and  earth  adored 

In  this  little  snow-white  Host ! 

A  happy  Heart,  that  fain  our  joys  would  share 

Lest  earth  their  brightness  dim, 
That  yearns  to  have  us  free  as  birds  of  air, 

Yet  chained  thro'  love  to  Him, 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  SACRED  HOST.  49 

A  faithful  Heart  that  ceaseless  vigil  keeps 

And  hears  each  plaintive  call : 
That  thro'  the  lone  watch  wearies  not  nor  sleeps 

But  guards  and  guides  us  all. 

A  patient  Heart,  so  free  from  anxious  fretting ! 

Yet  how  solicitous ! 
Ingratitude  forgiving  and  forgetting, 

Still  waiting  here  for  us. 

A  tender  Heart,  that  fain  would  share  each  grief 

Immortal  souls  must  bear; 
That  yearns  to  give  each  suffering  heart  relief 

From  want  and  pain  and  care. 

A  grateful  Heart,  that  for  the  earthly  treasure 

"  Lent  unto  Him,"  repays 
The  priceless  wealth  of  heav'nly  realms  in  measure 

A  hundred  fold  always. 

A  pleading  Heart!  how  fond  and  sweet  and  pure 
Its  tender  whispers  are  I 
4 


50  THE  HEART  OF  THE  SACRED  HOST. 

When  wily  tempter  would  our  souls  allure 
From  virtue's  ways  afar. 

A  Heart  of  fire !  burning  the  dross  away 

From  tarnished  souls,  and  dim, 
Till  in  the  crucible  they  grow  each  day 

More  pure,  more  dear  to  Him. 

O  Sacred  Host  I  a  trysting-place  divine 

This  altar  fair  shall  be, 

For  Thy  Heart  yearns  to  hold  love's  tryst  with 
mine ! 

Lo !  Thou  art  now  with  me  I 
My  soul  doth  on  the  Heart  of  God  recline  I 

O  wondrous  mystery ! 


LE  BON  DIEU.* 

AN  INCIDENT  OF  THE  FRANCO-PRUSSIAN  WAR. 
In  the  dark  days  when  fair,  fair  France 

Bowed  'neath  the  scourge  of  war  ; 
When  men  fought  on  the  battle-field, 

And  women  prayed  afar, 
Crowds  gathered  round  the  little  church 

In  the  village  of  Velars.f 

"  They  come  !  the  Prussians  come  !  "  they  cried ; 

"  Run  for  the  good  cure", 
That  he  may  hasten  here  to  bear 

Le  ban  Dieu  safe  away ! 
The  Prussian  horde  will  desecrate 

Our  little  church  to-day ! 

*  The  good  God.  |  A  small  Tillage  near  DijoN. 


52  LE  BON  DIEU. 


"  They  come  !  they  come  !  Mon  Dieu  I  mon  Dieu  f 

The  cure,  —  where  is  he  ? 
Nearer  the  sound  of  tramping  feet, 

Upon  us  they  will  be  !  " 
Fear  blanched  each  peasant  face,  and  wrung 

Each  heart  with  agony. 

'T  was  not  the  fear  of  death, 

Nor  fear  of  fighting  foreign  foe  ; 
They  feared  that  ruthless  Prussian  hand 

Unto  the  winds  might  throw 
The  Sacred  Species,  Bread  of  Life, 

Food  of  the  soul  below  ! 

Swift  came  the  word :  "  The  good  cur6 

Is  on  a  distant  call." 
"  And  who  shall  carry  le  bon  Duu  ?  " 

A  voice  spake :  "  Little  Paul 
His  First  Communion  made  this  year, 

He  is  the  best  of  all." 

A  lad  of  rare  good  sense  was  he  ; 
Guileless  of  heart  they  knew ; 


LE  BON  DIEU.  53 


And  yet  with  trembling  voice  he  cried : 
"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ? 

I  'm  not  a  priest,  and  how  can  I 
Carry  k  bon  Dieu  ?  " 

'T  was  then  with  one  accord  they  chose 
A  fair  child,  four  years  old, 

With  sweet,  angelic  face,  his  hair 
An  aureole  of  gold ; 

"  His  little  hands  are  pure,"  said  they : 
"  Le  bon  Dieu  he  may  hold." 

The  troubled  sea  of  human  life 

Lo  !  suddenly  grew  calm, 
As  tenderly  the  father  raised 

His  child  upon  his  arm, 
And  placed  a  snowy  linen  cloth 

Within  one  rosy  palm. 

The  little  fingers  slowly  turned 

The  tabernacle  key ; 
The  father  spake  a  whispered  word, — 

And  oh !  how  tenderly 


54  LE  BON  DIEU. 


The  pure  hands  of  the  child  drew  forth 
The  God  of  purity  I 

Upon  his  father's  sturdy  arm 

Sat  the  little  one  amazed, 
Bearing  within  his  baby  hands 

The  ciborium  upraised ; 
With  burning  tapers  followed  all, 

And  soon —  O  God  be  praised !  — 

Le  bon  Dieu  was  secure  from  harm ; 

And  while  the  Prussian  horde 
Made  havoc  in  the  holy  place 

With  tender  memories  stored, 
An  humble  peasant's  lowly  cot 

Gave  shelter  to  the  Lord. 


S3 


THE  BRIDAL.' 

They  kneel  before  the  altar  side  by  side, 
Love  given  for  love,  heart  pledged  to  heart : 

For  Holy  Church  the  nuptial  knot  has  tied, 

And  Christ-like  She  has  breathed:  "Till  death  do 
part" 

As  at  the  festive  scene  of  Galilee, 

Jesus  is  here,  the  marriage  feast  to  bless ; 

And  Mary,  too,  with  watchful  love  to  see 
Each  want  supplied,  maternal  tenderness  ! 

The  faithful  friends  around  them  fondly  breathe 
To  heaven's  throne  of  grace  the  fervent  prayer 

That  wedded  life  with  gentle  hands  may  weave 
Immortal  garlands  for  their  souls  to  wear. 


56  THE  BRIDAL. 

Life  may  have  cares,  —  but  if  't  would  not  be  so, 
If  souls  might  ever  bask  in  sun  and  flowers, 

Would  they,  though  satiate  with  these  sweets  below, 
E'er  yearn  for  other  than  terrestrial  bowers  ? 

The  past  may  likened  be  to  morn's  first  light ; 

The  present  to  full  dawning  of  the  day  ; 
Oh !  may  the  future  reach  meridian's  height 

And  life,  in  golden  sunset,  pass  away. 

Go  forth,  dear  friends,  and  tread  life's  given  way ; 

Let  heart  aid  heart  each  heavy  cross  to  bear ; 
Let  hand  help  hand  all  through  the  busy  day ; 

And  soul  with  soul  each  joy  and  sorrow  share ; 

And  the  fond  blessing  Holy  Church  implored 
In  Nuptial  Mass  upon  your  bridal  vows 

Will  gain  the  choicest  gifts  heaven  holds  enstored 
Within  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Christ,  Her  Spouse. 


57 


THE    CROWNING   SACRIFICE. 

The  last  sermon  of  the  Rev.  Thomas  N.  Burke,  O.  P., 
was  delivered  in  aid  of  the  fund  for  the  starving  chil 
dren  of  Donegal. 


Ill  unto  death,  the  holy  monk 
Raised  thrice  his  pen  to  trace 

A  kind  refusal  of  the  aid 

Sought  for  his  suffering  race  ; 

And  thrice  he  laid  it  down  again, 
For  nature  strove  with  grace. 

"  Poor  helpless  little  ones  !  Ah  me  ! 

'  Father,  plead  for  us  ! '  they  cry. 
What  matters  one  frail  life,"  he  mused, 

"  If  many  are  saved  thereby  ? 
Oh,  if  it  save  my  children's  lives, 

What  matters  if  I  die  ? 


58  THE   CROWNING  SACRIFICE. 

"  Five  thousand  helpless  little  ones ! 

I  hear  their  plaintive  cries ! 
In  the  name  of  God  I '//  wield  once  more 

The  power  that  in  me  lies  /"  .  .  . 
Within  the  Book  of  Life  was  writ 

His  vow  of  sacrifice ! 


He  sought  the  Altar  of  the  Lord, 
The  shrine  of  our  dear  Queen, 

And  bore  in  his  anointed  hand 
His  rosary,  I  ween, 

Breathing  that  sweetest  prayer  of  love, 
In  face  of  death  serene. 


Hath  man  done  greater  deed  than  he, 
Deed  worthier  of  renown  ? 

To  keep  life  in  God's  little  ones 
He  laid  his  own  life  down  ! 

His  love  the  perfect  Christ-like  love 
That  wins  a  shining  crown. 


THE  CROWNING  SACRIFICE.  59 

Forth  from  a  couch  of  wearing  pain 

To  preach  once  more  came  he, 
And  labored  up  the  pulpit  steps,  — 

His  Mount  of  Calvary,  — 
And  fondly  blessed  the  throng  that  yearned 

"  Dear  Father  Tom  "  to  see. 


Calm  was  his  brow :  the  peace  of  God 
Shone  there,  a  crown  of  light. 

All  gazed  upon  the  white-robed  friar, 
So  humble  in  his  might,  — 

So  like  a  seraph  form  that  he 
Might  vanish  from  their  sight. 


Bright  was  his  eye  with  fire  divine, 
Could  he  its  warmth  impart  ? 

His  voice  came  forth  a  flame  of  love, 
Each  word  a  burning  dart ; 

And  lo  !  the  fire  of  charity 
Was  lit  in  every  heart 


60  THE   CROWNING  SACRIFICE. 

He  gained  the  end  for  which  he  toiled ; 

He  stilled  his  children's  cries ; 
And  when  his  work  of  love  was  done, 

In  death  he  closed  his  eyes. 
Eternal  life  with  Christ,  his  Spouse, 

Repays  the  sacrifice. 


6i 


JESUS  OF  NAZARETH  PASSETH  BY. 

I  fain  would  kneel  as  near  as  I  can  be 

The  way  where  He  I  love  is  borne  past  me ! 

I  fain  would  gaze  upon  the  pastor's  face 

Who  bears  Him  tenderly  in  fond  embrace  ; 

'T  would  seem  that  faith,  and  hope  and  reverent 

fear 

Were  centred  all  in  love  for  Him  so  dear, 
He  bears  the  Father,  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth ! 
The  Son  to  whom  a  Virgin  pure  gave  birth  1 
The  Spirit,  co-eternal  One  above, — 
The  Triune  God  'neath  Sacrament  of  Love ! 
Bow  down,  O  Soul,  the  moment  blest  is  nigh  — 
JESUS  OF  NAZARETH  is  PASSING  BY! 
His  word,  alone,  thy  many  wounds  can  heal ; 
His  Sacred  Heart  will  heed  thy  weak  appeal ; 


62  JESUS  OF  NAZARETH  PASSE TH  BY. 

Oh,  call !  He  passeth  just  as  true  to-day 

As  when  His  path  round  Judea's  mountains  lay. 

His  mystic  presence  hath  to-day  .the  power, 

Self-same  that  healed  the  blinded  in  that  hour 

When  winds  of  evening  bore  to  Him  the  cry : 

"Jesus  of  Nazareth  is  passing  by ! " 

"Jesus  have  mercy,"  —  from  the  distance  came; 

"Jesus  have  mercy,"  —  clearer  rang  that  name ; 

"Jesus  have  mercy,"  —  at  His  feet  he  fell 

To  let  his  sightless  eyes  their  story  tell. 

He  rose  —  all  healed :    his  faith  had  made  him 

whole. 
Oh !  longer  doubtest  thou  my  trembling  soul  ? 

In  Holy  Gross  Cathedral,  Boston,  after  Solemn  High 
Mass  and  Vespers,  the  Blessed  Sacrament  is  borne 
from  the  grand  altar  to  the  chapel  of  the  Blessed 
Sacrament. 


A  CALL  TO  THE  CLOISTER. 

'T  was  in  the  holy  stillness 
Of  Matin  prayer  it  came  ; 

When  Vesper  bells  were  pealing 
I  heard  it  just  the  same  ; 

In  halls  where  mirth  and  pleasure 

Were  reigning  over  all, 
I  only  heard  re-echoed 

Ever  the  same  sweet  call. 

I  knew  not  whence  the  summons, 
Nor  where  't  would  have  me  go : 

I  only  knew  that  heaven 
Seemed  on  the  earth  helow. 


64  A   CALL    TO    THE   CLOISTER. 

'T  was  the  eve  of  the  Assumption, 
How  dear  the  feast  has  grown  ! 

Before  the  shrine  of  Mary 
I  knelt  to  pray  alone. 

And  I  sought  from  our  sweet  mother 
One  boon  :  that  I  might  know 

Whence  came  the  wordless  summons 
And  where  't  would  have  me  go. 

Then  I  heard  as  in  a  vision 
(Tho'  no  presence  did  I  see,) 

The  voice  of  Jesus  breathing : 
"  My  child,  come  follow  Me. 

"  Now  in  thy  life's  bright  morning, 
Choose  the  better  part ; 

Forsake  the  world's  vain  pleasure, 
Come,  rest  upon  my  Heart." 

Then  stillness  reigned  about  me, 
And  my  heart  began  to  swell 


A   CALL    TO   THE   CLOISTER.  65 

With  a  tender,  holy  yearning 
To  bid  the  world  farewell. 

The  moments  fled  unheeded, 

The  hours  winged  swiftly  past ; 
All  fear  and  doubt  had  vanished, 

I  knew,  the  call  at  last. 

I  woke  —  't  was  not  from  slumber, 

I  had  not  slumbered  there ; 
I  woke  when  night  shades  deepened 

From  ecstacy  of  prayer. 

And  I  thanked  my  Virgin  Mother, 

Thro'  her  sweet  power  I  know, 
I  learned  from  whence  the  summons 

And  where  't  would  have  me  go. 

Three  years  have  sped  ;  at  th'  altar 

Of  Mary,  a  convent  shrine, 
I  kneel,  —  't  is  the  Assumption, 

And  oh,  what  joy  is  mine  ! 

5 


66  A    CALL    TO   THE   CLOISTER. 

Upon  my  brow  is  resting 
A  bridal  wreath,  't  is  fair ; 

Entwined  around  my  girdle 
My  chosen  gems  I  wear. 

My  wreath  a  snowy  bandeau, 
The  dearest  one  to  me  ! 

These  are  the  gems  I  cherish, 
The  beads  of  my  rosary. 

Before  this  hour  is  ended 

I  '11  breathe  my  nuptial  vows  : 

My  home  henceforth  the  cloister, 
The  God  of  heaven  my  spouse. 


67 


O  JESU  MI  !* 

I  kneel  before  an  altar  chaste  and  fair 
Within  a  convent  chapel,  home  of  prayer. 
The  little  light  that  burns  so  bright  and  clear 
Tells  me,  dear  Lord,  that  Thou  art  dwelling  here. 
Oh !  when  the  heart  is  light,  the  spirits  gay, 
How  sweet  to  steal  a  little  while  away 
From  worldly  things  to  come  and  visit  Thee, 
O  Jesu  Mi !  O  Jesu  Mi ! 

In  the  dark  hours  when  the  soul  depressed 
Yearns  for  a  time  of  holy  peace  and  rest ; 
When  some  new  cross  seems  more  than  heart  can 
bear, 


*  Suggested  by  reading    these  words  on  the  base  of  the  altar  in  the 
chapel  of  St.  Joseph's  Convent,  Woodfords,  Me. 


68  O  JESU  MI! 

And  all  around  is  spread  the  tempter's  snare ; 
When  the  tried  soul  sends  forth  the  pleading  cry, 
"  Jesus,  have  mercy !  "  knowing  Thou  art  nigh  — - 
Oh !  then  how  sweet  to  come  and  lean  on  Thee, 
O  Jesu  Mi !  O  Jesu  Mi ! 

In  the  glad  hours  when  these  cares  depart 
And  peace  descends  upon  the  troubled  heart, 
When  lips  the  while  seem  powerless  to  frame 
Aught  save  in  tender  whispers  Jesus'  Name  ; 
When  for  a  time  unto  the  soul  is  given 
A  foretaste  of  supernal  joys  of  heaven  — 
Oh  !  then  how  sweet  to  nestle  close  to  Thee, 
O  Jesu  Mi !  O  Jesu  Mi ! 

In  the  dread  hour  when  the  fluttering  breath 
Shall  fainter  grow  beneath  the  kiss  of  death ; 
When  trembling  hands  shall  strive  in  vain  to  hold 
Their  rosary  —  't  will  fall,  its  beads  untold ; 
When  sense  shall  fail  and  pallid  lips  grow  dumb, 
How  sweet  to  know  that  Thou  to  us  wilt  come 
In  Thy  Sweet  Sacrament,  our  Life  to  be, 
O  Jesu  Mi!  O  Jesu  Mi! 


69 


A   COZY   LITTLE  HOME  AND  A   LOVING 
LITTLE  WIFE. 

When  weary  after  daily  toil, 

And  homeward  I  'm  returning, 
'T  is  sweet  to  know  a  beaming  light 

Is  in  my  window  burning. 
To  know  a  tender,  loving  hand 

Hath  placed  it  there  for  me ; 
But  sweeter  far  the  love-lit  face 

Of  my  own  dear  wife  to  see. 
O,  what  care  I  for  a.  roving  life  ? 

A  life  on  the  rolling  sea  ? 
A  cozy  little  home  and  a  loving  little  wife 

Are  world  enough  for  me. 

No  princely  dwelling  is  our  home, 
'T  is  a  cottage  quaint  and  neat, 


70  A    COZY  LITTLE  HOME. 

No  daisied  fields  on  any  side, 

It  stands  in  a  city  street. 
But  sweet  flowers  in  the  casement  blow, 

Woodbine  twines  round  the  door ; 
Sunbeams  of  love  our  hearts  illume, 

Ah,  then  !  what  need  we  more  ? 
Farewell,  farewell  to  a  roving  life  ! 

Tho'  once  't  was  so  dear  to  me  ; 
In  a  cozy  little  home  with  a  loving  little  wife, 

I  'm  happy  as  I  can  be. 

When  age  has  dimmed  her  lustrous  hair, 

Traced  furrows  on  her  brow, 
I  know  I  '11  love  my  little  wife 

E'en  more  than  I  do  now. 
Then  hand  in  hand  for  many  a  year, 

We  '11  tread,  please  God,  life's  way, 
With  hearts  as  young,  and  fond,  and  true, 

As  on  our  wedding  day. 
O,  in  childhood  my  dream  was  a  roving  life, 

In  boyhood  my  joy  was  the  sea  ; 
Now  a  cozy  little  home  and  a  loving  little  wife 

Are  all,  save  heaven,  to  me. 


AFTER   THE  CONSECRATION* 

"  The  seal  of  holiness  has  been  set  upon  this  temple.'1'' 

From  the  thrillingly  beautiful  sermon  delivered  by 
the  Rt.  Rev.  John  Joseph  Kain,  D.D.,  Bishop  of  Wheel 
ing,  West  Virginia,  during  solemn  Vespers  which  closed 
the  grand  ceremonies  of  August  31,  at  St.  Augustine's 
Church,  South  Boston. 

Corner-stone  laid  September,  1870.  Dedicated 
August  28,  1874.  Consecrated  August  31,  1884. 

God's  seal  is  on  it !  't  is  His  very  own  : 
The  consecrated  ground,  the  corner-stone, 
The  crypt,  the  nave,  the  transept,  altar,  choir, 
The  bell-tower,  and  the  cross-surmounted  spire. 
The  exorcisms,  the  anointings  o'er, 
Canceled  are  earthly  bonds  forevermore. 
God's  seal  is  on  it  —  CONSECRATED,  FREE, 
Thro'  years  unnumbered  His  ALONE  't  will  be  I 


72  AFTER    THE  CONSECRATION. 

Beneath  the  candelabrum  golden-bright, 
Scintillating  in  the  shining  light, 
I  kneel  entranced,  my  dazzled  eyes  upraise, 
Upon  the  altar,  wondrous  pure!  I  gaze, 
And  marvel  if  at  home  or  'cross  the  sea, 
For  King  divine  a  throne  more  fair  can  be,  — 
My  soul  the  while,  dilating,  pleads  and  prays : 
"  Linger  long  with  us,  O  great  day  of  days !  " 

O,  there  are  moments  to  the  spirit  given, 
That  seem  in  passing  a  bright  dream  of  heaven ; 
We  fain  would  wake  no  more  to  worldly  things, 
But,  earth  contemning,  soar  on  seraph  wings 
Upward  and  on  thro'  starlit  realms  of  space, 
'Til  in  the  rapture  of  a  God's  embrace, 
The  "  Lamb  once  slain  on  Calvary's  Mount "  we  see- 
Finding  the  dream  a  blest  reality. 

Would  that  a  Raphael's  power  to  me  were  given ! 
And  oh  i  the  soul-dream  of  the  life  of  heaven 
This  blessed  night  would  I  delineate, 
'Til  the  rude  canvas,  all  inanimate, 


AFTER    THE   CONSECRATION.  73 

Should  glow  with  life  celestial,  grand,  divine, 
Its  source  here  centred  in  this  marble  shrine, 
Hidden  —  ah  yes !  to  worldly  eyes  may  haps, 
But  't  is  a  mystic  veil  the  God-head  wraps, 
And  faith  believes  and  feels  and  knows  —  can  SEE 
Thaf  God  is  truly  here  —  How  near  to  me  \ 

But  no,  alas  !  this  lowly  hand  of  mine 
Hath  only  power  a  wreath  of  verse  to  twine. 
And  so  to-night  I  blend  love,  joy,  and  praise, 
Sweet  flow'rets  cheering  e'en  life's  humblest  ways, 
And  here  and  there  'mid  brightest  buds  I  weave 
A  snowdrop,  when  my  soul  doth  fondly  breathe 
A  De  Profundus  for  loved  ones  who  sleep, 
Whilst  olden  memories  tender  vigils  keep. 

Dear  Saint  Augustine's  !  often  when  the  heart 

Is  full,  the  lips  essay  in  vain  to  part ; 

Or  parting,  yet  the  tongue  sends  forth  no  word  — 

Only  a  flutter  of  the  soul  is  heard, 

As  when  we  kneel  in  the  tribunal  blest ; 

Whilst  at  the  Table  of  the  Lord  we  rest ; 


74  AFTER   THE  CONSECRATION. 

As  when  with  soul  love-burning  we  depart, 
Bearing  in  ours  the  tender  Sacred  Heart, 
And  linger  for  a  space  with  Guest  divine, 
Now  at  dear  Mary's,  now  at  Joseph's  shrine. 

Fair  Queen  of  temples  !  Heaven  to-day  hath  set 

Upon  thy  brow  a  lustrous  coronet ; 

Placed  in  thy  hand  a  scepter  of  bright  gold, 

And  given  to  thee  a  dower  of  wealth  untold. 

Thy  loyal  subjects  in  un riven  zone 

Circle  to-night  around  thy  regal  throne  ; 

The  angel  host  in  realms  celestial  sings 

Sanctus,  Sanctusy  SANCTUS,  and  the  King  of  kings, 

The  God  of  love,  sealing  eternal  vows, 

Giveth  the  "  kiss  of  peace  "  to  thee  His  spouse. 

SOUTH  BOSTON,  August  31,  1884. 


75 


THE   SHIVERED   GLASS. 

You  say  you  cannot  give  up  this  one  measure, 
And  victory  o'er  the  tempter  win  to-day  ! 

That  you  will  drain  this  last  cup  of  wine's  pleasure, 
Then  break  forever  from  its  charms  away  ! 

Ah  me  !  what  bitter  want  and  sin  and  sorrow 
The  last  glass  —  often  taken  —  hath  begun  ! 

Conquer  TO-DAY  ;  why  wait  for  any  morrow  ? 

Shiver  the  glass  !  Thank  God  !  the  vict'ry  's  won. 

Go  forth ;  and  oh !  when  writhing  in  temptation  — 
The  crucible  of  fire  that  tries  all  men, 

Remember  :  self-denial  wins  salvation  ; 
Never  replace  the  shivered  glass  again. 


A  GOLDEN  JUBILEE. 

Fold  thy  pure  hands,  dear  sister, 
Nor  wait  life's  setting  sun  ; 

Thy  long,  long  day  of  labor 
At  length  for  thee  hath  won 

Reprieve  ;  't  is  best  for  thee  to  rest  • 
Thy  noble  share  is  done. 


With  youthful  eye  love  beaming, 
And  guileless  heart  aglow, 

Oh,  thou  didst  seek  the  labor 
Of  Christ  long  years  ago  : 

With  patient  toil,  in  human  soil, 
The  seeds  of  heaven  to  sow. 


A    GOLDEN  JUBILEE.  77 

Then  rest  thee,  gentle  sister, 

And  gaze  with  dreamy  eyes 
On  clouds  that  flit  like  angel  wings 

'Tween  earth  and  paradise, 
Or  dream  sweet  dreams  ere  golden  beams 

Vanish  from  sunlit  skies. 


"  Nay,  nay,"  the  brave  soul  answers : 

(Pierced  with  a  seraph  dart,) 
"  On  earth  to  toil  and  suffer 

And  love,  shall  be  my  part. 
Heaven  holds  my  rest,  how  sweet,  how  blest ! 

A  wounded,  Sacred  Heart." 


Earth's  joys  are  weighed  —  found  wanting, 
The  worth  of  heaven  's  divined  ! 

The  soul,  tried,  true,  and  patient, 
The  heart  in  Christ's  enshrined, 

Wins  joy  supreme  when  the  fleeting  dream 
Of  earthly  joy 's  resigned. 


78  A  GOLDEN  JUBILEE. 

Hail  years  of  holy  wooing, 
Of  many  a  pure  love  tryst ! 

Hail  morn  of  sweet  espousals 
Of  a  novice  soul  and  Christ ; 

The  God  of  heaven  to  mortal  given! — 
What  hath  mortal  sacrificed  ? 


Hail  years  of  toil !  hail  harvest 

Matured  midst  joy  and  pain ! 
Heart-joys  the  warm  bright  sunbeams, 

Heart-griefs  the  dew  and  rain 
Strength'ning  root  and  leaf,  filling  the  sheath, 

Ripening  the  golden  grain. 


Oh,  a  blessing  grand  and  holy 
Speeds  'neath  the  ocean  foam, 

From  the  heart  of  our  Holy  Father, 
From  our  earthly  heaven,  Rome, 

And  its  accents  sweet  fond  lips  repeat 
To  thee  in  thy  cloister-home. 


A   GOLDEN  JUBILEE.  79 

Near  Mary's  shrines  and  Joseph's, 

O  spouse  of  Christ !  for  thee 
Hearts  twine,  to-day,  rare  garlands  — 

More  fragrant  none  can  be  — 
For  each  flow'ret  fair  is  a  tender  prayer 

Of  holy  jubilee  ! 


In  the  Visitation  Convent,  Washington,  D.  C.,  on  the 
Feast  of  Saint  Joseph,  1885,  was  celebrated  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  the  Religious  Profession  of  Sister  Jane 
Frances  de  Chantal  Cummings. 


8o 


CALLED  AND  CHOSEN. 

The  burning  tapers  flood  with  mellow  light 

A  holy  sanctuary  chaste  and  fair  ; 
The  golden  sunbeams  with  their  radiance  bright 

Illumine  all  the  hallowed  place  of  prayer. 

Rich  waves  of  music  from  the  organ  flow, 
And  ebbing  die  in  tender  melody  ; 

While  faces  mirror  souls'  ecstatic  glow 
Amidst  a  hush  of  fond  expectancy. 

From  swaying  censers  perfumed  clouds  ascend, 
Breaking  away  Jneath  frescoed  arch  above  ; 

With  choirs  celestial  earthly  voices  blend,  — 
Heaven  views  with  earth  the  Sacrifice  of  love. 


CALLED  AND   CHOSEN.  81 

Before  the  altar  three  young  Levites  kneel  — 
Across  each  snowy  alb  a  deep'red  stole  — 

And  we  who  gaze  upon  them  almost  feel 
The  joy  exquisite  thrilling  each  young  soul  ; 

A  joy  so  deep,  't  is  near  akin  to  pain  — 

A  pain  more  sweet  than  worldly  joys  can  be, 

That  soothes  the  heart  it  seems  to  rend  in  twain 
With  healing  balm  of  love's  pure  ecstasy. 

And  why  this  wondrous  sheen  of  altar  light  ? 

This  flush  of  holy  joy  illuming  all  ? 
Do  hearts  and  shrines  extol  in  vesture  bright 

God's  great  elect,  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  ? 


Nay,  nay  ;  for  Holy  Church,  the  Lord's  fair 
In  tender  union  with  her  Triune  Spouse 

The  great  commemoration  sets  aside 
To  bless  to-day  the  holiest  of  vows. 

Oh,  ye  have  read  the  tender,  touching  story 
Of  the  Last  Supper,  when  the  Lord  divine, 
6 


82  CALLED  AND   CHOSEN. 

For  love  of  men  and  for  His  Father's  glory, 

Changed  to  His  flesh  and  blood  the  bread  and  wine ; 

Read  how  He  breathed  unto  them  when  arisen  : 

"  Receive    the    Holy    Ghost "  —  and    God's    peace 
reigned  — 

"  Whose  sins  you  shall  forgive  they  are  forgiven, 
Whose  sins  you  shall  retain  they  are  retained." 

Read,  too,  within  those  sacred  Scripture  pages  : 
"  Go  TEACH  ALL  NATIONS  !  "    O  command  sublime ! 

Hail  powers  to  be  transmitted  thro'  all  ages ! 
Hail  mission  fruitful  to  the  end  of  time  ! 

Oh,  still  resounds  the  tender,  pleading  call 

That  won  the  fishermen  of  Galilee  : 
Still  hearts  responding  cry :  "  My  Lord,  my  all, 

Behold  we  leave  all  things  to  follow  Thee."  .... 

The  Mass  goes  on  ....  The  moment  dread  is  here  — 
With  voice  episcopal  three  voices  blend 

In  consecration  —  lo  !  the  WORD  descends ! 
Angelic  choirs,  invisible,  attend, 


CALLED  AND   CHOSEN.  83 

The  while,  with  reverent  love,  adoring  fear, 
Our  trembling  hearts  the  mystery  revere  .... 

The  rite  goes  on  ....  Link  by  link  are  severed 
Fetters  of  worldly  pleasure,  earthly  love : 

Forged  is  a  brighter  chain,  't  will  last  forever, 
Each  shining  link  a  grace  from  heaven  above. 

Lo!  the  Episcopate- by  God  appointed 

Weds  the  young  Levites  to  th'  Eternal  Spouse : 

In  priestly  vesture  they  arise,  ANOINTED, 
While  heaven  records  the  holiest  of  vows. 

A  joy  supreme  the  mariner  doth  know, 

When  winds  are  still  and  clouds  no  longer  lower; 

When  in  the  rosy  light  of  morning's  glow, 

His  bark  safe  moored,  he  gains  the  welcome  shore. 

What  tho'  again,  at  morrow's  dawn,  he  goes 

To  struggle  bravely  with  both  wind  and  wave  ?  — 

There  's  future  strength  in  present  sweet  repose, 
And  God  is  strong  to  guard,  and  guide,  and  save. 


84  CALLED  AND  CHOSEN. 

One  voyage  of  three  chosen  souls  is  o'er : 
One  stormless  voyage  'cross  the  sea  of  life  ; 

To-day  they  rest  upon  a  welcome  shore, 
Go  forth  to-morrow  unto  noblest  strife. 

Fishers  of  men  !  their  net  the  Word  divine ; 

Their  course  far  out  o'er  life's  tempestuous  sea. 
O  Heart  of  Mary,  Stella  Marts,  shine! 

O  Heart  of  Jesus,  Thou  their  haven  be ! 


KATHLEEN  AND  JAMIE. 

A  proud  ship  anchored  lay 

In  Queenstown's  fair  bay, 
While  sad  hearts  gathered  near  on  the  quay ; 

Oh  !  the  wailings,  the  sighs, 

The  heart-rending  "  Good-byes ! " 
God  of  love  !  that  such  parting  must  be  ! 

There,  aside  from  the  throng, 
Stood  a  lad,  brave  and  strong, 

With  the  light  of  love  shone  his  dark  eye ; 
And  a  maid  sweet  and  fair 
With  soft  curls  of  brown  hair, 

And  eyes  blue  as  the  mid-summer  sky. 


86  KA  THLEEN  AND  JAMIE. 

"  O  Jamie,  don't  go  ! 

My  heart 's  breaking  with  woe,  — 
Oh !  to  die  here  on  Erin's  fair  shore, 

With  my  hand  clasp'd  in  thine, 

Thy  dear  face  close  to  mine,  — 
To  feel  hunger  and  heart-ache  no  more." 


"  O  Kathleen,  heart's  love  ! 

See,  the  sun  shines  above 
Where  dark  clouds  lower'd  a  moment  agone 

A  good  omen,  machree  ! 

Why  down-hearted  are  we  ? 
Sure  the  darkest  hour 's  just  before  dawn. 


"  Come,  now,  smile  once  again 

As  the  happy  day  when 
Heart  and  hand,  love,  you  promised  to  me. 

Say,  '  God  bless  you,'  once  more,  — 

Breathe  it,  love,  o'er  and  o'er ; 
'T  will  protect  me  when  on  the  wide  sea.' 


KATHLEEN  AND  JAMIE.  87 

"  O  Jamie,  machree  !  • 

Your  heart 's  breaking,  may  be, 
Tho'  so  cheery  your  voice  and  your  smile. 

May  God  keep  from  all  harm 

Thy  brave  heart,  true  and  warm, 
On  the  sea  and  in  lonely  exile." 


"  One  fond  kiss,  love  —  good-bye  !  — 

What !  a  tear  in  your  eye  ? 
Sure,  't  is  God  wills  this  parting  to  be  ; 

We  are  safe  in  His  care 

Kathleen  dear,  anywhere 
In  lov'd  Erin  or  on  the  wide  sea. 


"  O,  this  dear  hand  to  claim  ! 

Heaven  bless  my  fond  aim  : 
For  my  Kathleen  a  home  to  provide. 

Now,  be  brave,  my  heart's  love, 

The  kind  Father  above 
Will  protect  thee,  whatever  betide." 


KATHLEEN  AND  JAMIE. 


The  proud  ship  sailed  away 

The  noontide  of  that  day, 
And  fair  Kathleen  stood  out  on  the  quay, 

'Til  't  was  lost  to  her  view, 

Praying  softly,  I  knew, 
For  her  lover-lad  crossing  the  sea. 

O  Erin,  sad  isle  ! 

In  sweet  dreams  the  exile 
With  fair  Kathleen  treads  now  thy  green  shore  ; 

Sees  her  love-beaming  eyes, 

Hears  her  lips'  fond  replies,  — 
But,  alas !  —  wakes  in  exile  once  more. 


DIVINE  RETRIBUTION. 

[The  civil  authorities  of  Marseilles  forbade  this  year 
the  annual  solemn  procession  in  thanksgiving  for 
delivery  from  pestilence.  It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that 
on  the  very  day  on  which  the  prohibited  procession  was 
to  have  taken  place,  the  cholera  broke  out  in  the  city ; 
was  it  simply  a  coincidence  ?  —  Ave  Maria,  July 
26, 1884.] 

• 
Ah  France  !  the  direful  mandate  thou  hast  spoken ; 

The  golden  chain  of  hallowed  prayer  lies  broken,  — 
The  chain  that  held  th'  avenging  wrath  of  God  ! 
Bow,  Marseillaise,  'neath  yoke  of  fierce  oppression, 
Never  again  in  holiest  procession 

May  thy  fair  soil  be  trod. 


90  DIVINE  RETRIBUTION. 

France,  eldest  daughter  of  a  tender  mother ! 
Thou  hast  become  an  ingrate  as  none  other ; 
O'er  thee  thy  mother  wails  and  weeps  and  prays. 
Ah  !  thou  hast  set  at  naught  her  fond  protection, 
Straying  afar  —  O  child  of  God's  election  ! 
In  evil,  woful  ways. 


Thy  happy  homes  an  awful  breath  is  blighting ; 
Thy  children's  lives  an  awful  arm  is  smiting; 
Unfettered  sweeps  th'  avenging  wrath  divine  ! 
Hearest  thou  not  weird  cries  of  dereliction  ? 
Carest  thou  naught  for  this  supreme  affliction, 
Fruit  of  one  deed  of  thine  ? 


O  France,  fair  France  !  what  demon  spell  is  o'er  thee  ? 
Perdition  lies  a  dark  abyss  before  thee, 
And  thou  art  frenzied  with  a  fierce  God-hate  : 
Plunging  toward  death  worse  than  annihilation,  — 
O  thou  once  royal  and  still  mighty  nation !  — 
Pause  ere  it  be  TOO  LATE. 


•  DIVINE   RETRIBUTION.  91 

Thy  tender  mother,  Holy  Church,  is  yearning, 
O  France,  fair  prodigal !  for  thy  returning, 
Longing  to  fold  thee  to  her  heart  once  more. 
Alas !  vain  dreams  of  freedom  that  allured  thee 
In  pestilential  prison  have  immured  thee,  — 
And  thou  wast  FREE  before. 

O  Heavenly  Queen !  thro'  this  dark  night  defend  her ! 
Thou  who  art  '•'•Morning  Star"  may  thy  pure  splendor 
A  guiding  light  unto  the  wanderer  be  ! 
Thy  love  divine  her  wild  God-hate  out-weighing,  — 
Mother  of  Christ !  'mid  throes  of  death  are  praying 
The  children  of  France  to  thee. 


SAINT  TERESA. 

The  clouds  of  ages  break  away  to-night, 

A  pure,  sweet  face,  with  forehead  coifed  looks 
down, 

A  brown  serge  habit  glows  in  heaven's  light,  — 
The  snowy  coif  becomes  a  shining  crown. 

One  mystic  hand  a  parchment  roll  doth  bear, 
The  other  downward  points  to  hell's  abyss, 

A  saint's  sweet  voice  repeats  "  Beware,  beware  ! 
God's  mercy  only  saved  my  soul  from  this." 

The  mystic  hands  the  parchment  leaves  unroll : 
Romances,  legends,  tales,  are  written  there ; 

The  lurid  flames  leap  up  and  grasp  the  scroll, 
Again  the  saint's  sweet  voice  repeats  "  Beware  ! " 


SAINT   TERESA.  93 


The  vision  changes  :  lurid  flames  depart, 
Celestial  radiance  fills  the  sky  above, 

Halos  of  glory  circle  round  a  heart 

Transfixed  with  penitent  and  burning  love. 

Lo  !  as  we  gaze  the  heart  becomes  a  scroll, 
Deep,  mystic  words  we  see  engraven  there  — 

'T  is  ours  to  read  the  secret  of  a  soul 
Who  lived  on  earth  in  ecstasy  of  prayer. 

"  O  God,  to  suffer  or  to  die  !  "     'T  was  all, 
'T  was  everything  —  a  prayer  divine 

That  broke  the  seal  that  held  her  soul  in  thrall, 
And  made  it  pliant  unto  God's  design. 

Dear  Saint  Teresa  !  from  our  hearts  to-night 
Prayers  of  petition  heavenward  rise  to  thee ; 

Aid  us,  dear  Saint,  thro'  time  to  read  aright 
The  holy  lessons  of  eternity. 

And  when  we  toil  in  lore-fields  of  the  age, 
Oh !  may  our  labors  ever  be  thy  care, 


94  SAINT  TERESA. 


Else  we  may  glean  the  chaff  from  bard  and  sage 
Leaving  the  ripened  grain  ungarnered  there. 

Upon  thy  shrine  a  chaplet  bright  we  see, 

The  fragrant  blossoms  culled  in  bowers  of  love, 

Angelic  hosts  the  tribute  bear  to  thee, 
Saint  of  seraphic  heart  reigning  above ! 


95 


A  TRIBUTE 

TO    MY    ESTEEMED    FRIEND,  DR.  E.  P.  Le  PROHON,    ON    THE 

FEAST   OF    HIS  PATRON,  ST.  EDWARD,    KING 

OF    ENGLAND. 

'T  is  grand,  sublime,  thy  task  to  soothe 
The  wearied  body,  fevered,  pained ; 

'T  is  grand,  sublime,  aye,  even  more, 
'T  is  holy,  aye,  and  God  ordained. 

'T  is  God  ordained  :  long  years  ago 

Fair  Judea's  hills  did  oft  resound 
With  words  of  praise  for  Him  who  trod 

With  humble  feet  the  far  famed  ground. 


96  A    TRIBUTE. 


Who  went  about  with  saving  power 
And  healed  the  ills  of  man  each  day ; 

Who  spoke  —  and  by  his  word  alone, 
The  lame  arose  and  went  their  way. 

His  holy  hands  the  lepers  cleansed, 
And  made  the  many  blind  to  see, 

And  cured  the  deaf  and  dumb  who  came 
To  Him  with  faith,  in  Galilee. 

To  save  the  suffering  —  blessed  gift 
Akin  to  healing  power  divine  ! 

O  friend  esteemed  and  dearly  loved, 
Hath  thro'  a  fruitful  life  been  thine, 

How  faithfully  thy  loyal  heart 

Doth  guard  the  secrets  told  to  thee 

In  the  dread  moment  when  the  soul 
Is  verging  on  eternity. 

How  oft  when  God's  decree  is  passed, 
And  mortal's  earthly  course  is  run, 


A    TRIBUTE.  97 


When  racking  pains  assert  their  sway 
And  all  that  thou  canst  do  is  done, 

'T  is  thine  to  break  with  gentle  voice, 
Death  tidings,  —  sad  yet  holy  task,  — 

When  trembling  hearts,  in  mingled  hope 
And  fear,  thy  verdict  mutely  ask ; 

And  souls,  bowed  down  in  grief,  implore 
For  thee  choice  blessings  day  by  day ;  - 

O  heaven's  road  is  surely  thine, 

For  feet  divine  have  traced  the  way. 

God  gives  thee,  too,  another  guide, 
Whose  memory  lives  in  holy  fame ; 

Where'er  the  Cross  of  Christ  is  raised 
All  hearts  revere  thy  patron's  name. 

E'en  tho'  he  dwelt  in  kingly  halls, 
And  England's  royal  sceptre  bore, 

His  virtues  far  outshone  the  gems 
That  glittered  in  the  crown  he  wore. 

7 


98  A    TRIBUTE. 


O  blest  St.  Edward !  from  my  heart 
Ascends  to-night  a  fervent  prayer  : 

"  O  may  thy  sweet  abiding  love, 
Thy  guidance  and  thy  tender  care, 

"As  in  the  past,  still  follow  him, 
Whose  faith  is  ever  firm  in  thee, 

'Til  he  hath  passed  thro'  death  to  life 
And  gained  a  blest  eternity." 


99 


THE  MONTH  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

'T  is  the  royal  harvesting  season, 

The  autumnal  skies  are  serene  ; 
While  we  gather  earth's  fruits  in  rich  plenty 

The  graces  of  heaven  we  glean  ; 
For  there  comes  in  the  month  of  the  angels 

Many  a  feast  that  we  love, 
And  on  earth  the  fond  children  of  Mary 

Praise  their  mother  with  choirs  above  ; 
And  all  the  world  over  this  month  of  October 
Comes   youth   and   comes  maiden   with   heav'nly 

fruits  laden  : 

Holy  thoughts,  words  and  deeds ;  and  the  angelic 
bands, 

In  mystical  hands, 

Bear  the  burden  of  love  to  the  Beautiful  One 
Reigning  in  heaven  with  Jesus,  her  Son. 


ioo  THE  MONTH  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

'T  is  the  bright  month  of  the  angels 

i 
And  of  Mary,  the  Queen  of  them  all ; 

Clasping  our  rosaries  fondly 

On  the  sweet  Maiden-Mother  we  call. 
And  we  hear  strains  of  marvellous  music, 

The  rustle  of  shimmering  wings, 
For  the  angel  hosts  gather  around  us, 

They  list  to  our  fond  whisperings. 
And  hearts  the  world  over  this  month  of  October 
In  a  setting  of  prayer  place  the  gems  rich  and  rare  : 
Holy  thoughts,  words  and  deeds ;   and  the  angelic 
bands, 

With  mystical  hands, 
Crown  the  fair  brow  of  the  Beautiful  One 
Reigning  in  heaven  with  Jesus,  her  Son. 


101 


THE  MONTH  OF  THE  HOLY  SOULS. 

The  chill,  wintry  winds  of  November 

Are  burdened  with  many  a  sigh, 

With  many  a  story  of  anguish, 

With  many  a  sorrowful  cry. 

List !  't  is  the  souls  in  a  vast  burning  prairie 

Crying  to  us  in  their  pain  :  Miserere  ! 

Some  dear  one  beloved  in  the  past, 

A  heart  true  to  us  till  the  last ; 

A  soul  whom  we  deemed  free  from  stain, 

Unto  whom  we  dreamed  had  been  given 

A  robe  for  the  nuptials  of  heaven, 

Alas !  writhes  in  torturing  pain  :  — 

Out  of  the  depths  of  the  vast  burning  prairie 

Crieth  this  soul  unto  us  :  Miserere / 


102  THE  MONTH  OF  THE  HOLY  SOULS. 

O  let  us  re-echo  this  cry 

Till  it  reaches  the  throne  upon  high, 

Let  us  lift  up  our  hands  and  implore, 

O'er  and  o'er,  o'er  and  o'er, 

The  mercy  of  God  thro'  this  month  of  November, 

Repeating,  "  O  Lord,  remember,  remember, 

The  faithful  departed :  Rest  give  unto  them  — 

Domine,  dona  eis  requiem" 

O,  hark  to  the  winds  that  by  night  and  by  day 
Whisper  this  message  from  spirit  lands  :  "  Pray 
For  souls  that  can  merit  not,  souls  that  endure 
The  purgative  flames  that  will  render  them  pure  ; 
For  the  Suffering  Church  in  the  vast  burning  prairie, 
Church  Militant,  cry  unto  heaven  :  Miserere!" 

O  Spirit  of  Charity,  hover  thou  near, 

Lest  'mid  the  world's  turmoil  our  hearts  fail  to  hear, 

Else,  hearing,  we  heed  not,  or  cease  to  remember 

The  message  borne  to  us  on  winds  of  November ; 

O  linger  on  earth,  and  by  night  and  by  day 

To  the  living  breathe  ceaselessly,  pleadingly :  "  Pray 


THE  MONTH  OF  THE  HOLY  SOULS.  103 

For  the  souls  of  the  dead,"  till  time  shall  be 

Lost  in  the  heart  of  eternity ; 

Till  the  breath  of  God  breathed  o'er  the  purgative  fire 

Quenches  the  flame  ;  and  the  captive's  desire 

For  heaven,  for  God,  gains  repletion  at  last.  .  .  . 

With  time  dies  the  flame  of  this  mystical  prairie 

And  the  pitiful  wail  of  the  dead  :  Miserere  ! 


104 


OUR  LADY  OF  LOURDES. 

Like  God's  sweet  blessings  the  bright  sunbeams  fall 
And  fondly  linger  round  the  grotto-hall, 
Crowning  as  with  a  diadem  of  grace 
Our  Lady  of  Lourdes^  who  guards  the  holy  place. 
How  often  from  the  break  'til  close  of  day, 
Come  faithful  hearts  to  love  and  thank  and  pray, 
While  Mary's  lips  as  often  seem  to  say  : 

"I  am  the  Immaculate  Conception" 

How  oft,  when  anxious  watchers  breathe  a  prayer 
That  She  some  loved  one  in  their  midst  would  spare, 
Her  holy  hands  upraised  in  mute  appeal 
Are  lowered  to  earth  awhile  to  bless  and  heal. 


OUR  LADY  OF  LOURDES.  105 

Whilst  humbly  kneeling  at  her  virgin  feet, 
In  gratitude  her  praises  to  repeat, 
They  seem  to  hear,  in  accents  pure  and  sweet : 
"  /  am  the  Immaculate  Conception" 

Conceived  without  sin  !  O  spotless  Queen  of  heaven  ! 

The  clouds  of  justice  seem  above  us  riven, 

Whilst  thro'  the  sword  wound  in  that  heart  of  thine, 

The  brightest  rays  of  mercy  seem  to  shine. 

And  as  we  kneel  and  humbly  crave  to  know 

The  greatest  gift  heaven  did  on  thee  bestow, 

There  comes  a  sweet  reply  in  whisper  low : 

"  'T  was  my  Immaculate  Conception." 

Conceived  without  sin  !  not  e'en  for  one  short  hour 

Did  Satan  wield  o'er  thee  his  evil  power ! 

O  Heart  Immaculate  !  to  Thee  we  cry, 

In  Thee  we  live,  in  Thee  we  hope  to  die. 

O  joy !  to  breathe  "  Hail  Mary  full  of  grace  ! " 

Gazing,  in  heaven,  upon  thy  pure,  sweet  face, 

Whilst  angels  hover  near  this  holy  place 

To  praise  thy  Immaculate  Conception. 


io6 


ST.  DOMINIC'S  CHURCH,  PORTLAND,  ME. 

1828  —  1885. 

Hush !  let  us  not  pass  by  with  hurrying  feet, 

Nor  let  us  pause,  the  passers-by  to  greet ; 

But  enter  here,  and  from  the  mind  and  heart 

For  a  short  space  bid  worldliness  depart ; 

And  bowing  down  within  the  holy  place, 

Quaff  a  rich  draught  from  out  the  fount  of  grace. 

You  wonder  why  it  is  so  dear  to  me 
This  olden  church  ?  and  fail  the  charm  to  see  ? 
The  golden  sunlight  through  stained  windows  falls, 
And  with  bright  tints  illumes  the  hallowed  walls  : 
Thus  olden  memories  flood  with  joy  the  heart, 
And  lo  !  the  shades  of  daily  cares  depart. 


ST.    DOMINIC'S  CHURCH.  107 

How  many  glancing  back  o'er  memory's  page 
Unto  a  happy,  care-free  childhood  age, 
Live  o'er  again  their  first  Communion  day ; 
Another  later  on,  perchance,  when  they 
Pledged  holy  nuptial  vows  in  manhood's  pride, 
Or  plighted  the  fond  troth,  a  blushing  bride. 

Here  at  this  sacred  font  how  oft  have  flowed 

Baptismal  waters ;  oft  has  been  bestowed 

The  peace  of  God  in  this  tribunal  blest ; 

Here  at  this  altar  oft  when  sore  oppressed 

We  've  knelt,  partaken  of  the  Bread  of  Life, 

And  gained  new  strength  for  seeming  endless  strife. 

How  many  a  loved  one,  too,  has  rested  here, 
While  tapers  burned  above  a  mournful  bier ; 
The  Dies  Tree  softly,  sadly  sung, 
Within  our  hearts  these  passing  years  has  rung  ; 
But  lo  !  the  mournful  echoes  die  away 
Whilst  we  in  resignation  kneel  and  pray. 

Dear,  dear  old  church !  each  recollection  seems 
A  golden  light  that  ever  brightly  gleams 


io8  ^T:   DOMINIC'S  CHURCH. 

Across  thine  aisles,  upon  thy  stationed  walls, 
And,  lingering,  o'er  thy  sanctuary  falls, 

Till  thou  art  flooded  with  a  mystic  glow 
More  like  to  Heaven  than  to  aught  below. 

The  sanctuary  light  doth  strive  to  shed 
A  golden  glory  round  the  thorn-crowned  head. 
The  wounded  feet,  the  bleeding  side  we  see, 
The  hands  outstretched  to  bless  in  agony. 
Portrayed  in  woe  the  "  Dead  Christ "  hangs  above, 
Who  on  the  altar  lives  a  life  of  love. 

Burn,  burn,  sweet  altar  light !  burn  bright  and  clear 

To  bless  the  unseen  Presence  dwelling  here 

We  Ve  lingered  long  and  we  must  haste  away, 
The  gathering  shadows  tell  the  close  of  day. 
Oh  !  is  it  still  a  mystery  to  thee 
Why  this  old  church  has  grown  so  dear  to  me  ? 


log 


A  BIT  OF  ADVICE. 

Whene'er  you  find  a  chance  to  wed 

A  noble  girl,  don't  slight  it ; 
And  if  you  cannot  speak  your  mind, 

Why,  just  sit  down  and  write  it. 

Nor  wealth,  nor  beauty,  wit  nor  fame 
Should  in  this  choice  decide  you, 

Let  pure  affection,  earnest  prayer, 
And  light  from  heaven  guide  you. 

Remember  this  :  your  wedded  life 
Will  be  just  what  you  make  it ; 

Once  Heaven  has  sealed  the  nuptial  vow 
No  power  of  earth  can  break  it. 


THE  OLD  CHURCH  AND  THE  NEW. 
ST.  GREGORY'S  AND  ST.  JAMES',  HAVERHILL. 

The  soil  is  tilled,  the  seed  is  sown,  the  labor 
Seems  in  the  pensive  twilight  well-nigh  done  ; 
Yet 't  is  because  we  stand  upon  "  Mount  Tabor  "  • 
The  work  in  very  truth  is  just  begun. 

Let  us  descend  awhile  from  this  our  mountain 
And  in  the  lowly  valley,  tranquil,  fair, 
Quaff  a  rich  draught  from  the  eternal  fountain, 
Christ  the  perennial  source,  the  channel,  prayer. 

'Mid  the  soft  shadows  where  yon  light  is  burning 
O  let  us  rest  till  throbbing  hearts  grow  calm ; 
Children  are  we,  at  close  of  day  returning 
Unto  a  parent  Heart  how  true,  how  warm  ! 


THE  OLD  CHURCH  AND    THE  NEW.  in 

The  night  shades  fall ;  whilst,  wrapt  in  sweet  elation, 
Souls  gaze,  't  would  seem,  thro'  mystic  telescopes, 
Into  a  brilliant  star  of  consummation 
Grows  the  bright  glimmer  of  our  future  hopes. 

Hail  royal  mountain,  Temple  grand  and  holy  ! 
Where  soon  the  hidden  God  shall  wield  love's  sway ; 
Hail  blissful  valley,  chapel  fair  and  lowly ! 
Where  now  He  waits  our  coming  night  and  day. 

O  there  are  memories  holy,  bright,  and  tender 
Circling  around  this  chapel  quaint  and  old, 
Growing,  'neath  heaven's  light,  in  royal  splendor 
Till  our  soul-eyes  a  shining  crown  behold. 

And  thro'  the  coming  years  this  circlet  golden 
Fair  hands  shall  deck  with  many  a  glistening  gem  : 
The  priceless  setting  tender  memories  olden  ; 
New  joys  the  jewels  of  the  diadem. 
i 

Within  our  hearts  there  is  no  room  for  sorrow, 
One  thought  with  joy  doth  every  soul  imbue : 


112  THE  OLD   CHURCH  AND    THE  NEW. 

When  we  shall  leave  on  some  appointed  morrow, 
The  dear  old  church  to  worship  in  the  new. 

St.  Gregory,  our  hearts'  fond  love  possessing, 
Shall  still  be  ours  —  how  blessed  are  the  claims  ! 
E'en  while  with  filial  love  we  crave  the  blessing 
Of  Charity's  Apostle,  great  St.  James. 


JESUS  AND  MARY. 

One  loved  our  dear  Lord  as  none  other 
Could  ever  have  loved  Him  on  earth  : 

His  tender  Immaculate  Mother, 
Pure  in  her  conception  and  birth. 

In  maidenhood  guileless  and  holy; 

In  Motherhood  spotless  was  she  ; 
In  Apostolate  zealous  yet  lowly  ; 

Death  came  her  Assumption  to  be. 

Fair  Queen  unto  heaven  and  earth  given, 
Whose  bright  reign  can  never  grow  dim  ! 

Our  Lord  hath  enthroned  her  in  heaven  — 
Behold  she  reigns  nearest  to  Him  ! 
8 


H4  JESUS  AND  MARY. 

And  He,  oh  !  how  fondly,  must  love  her ! 

Who  kept  all  His  words  in  her  heart ; 
Who  bore  while  on  earth  as  none  other 

In  all  His  great  sorrows  a  part. 

With  Jesus  we  always  may  find  her,  — 

His  first  tabernacle  was  she  ! 
In  the  light  of  His  Heart  He  enshrined  her 

When  He  chose  her  His  Mother  to  be. 

How  ruthless  the  hand  that  would  sever 
These  two  hearts  bound  fondly  in  one  ! 

O  we,  poor  weak  mortals,  can  never 
Love  Mary  as  Jesus  has  done  ! 

In  the  fair  little  Chapel  enshrine  her, 
Close  by  her  dear  son  place  her  now, 

And  the  sweetest  rose-garlands  we  '11  twine  her, 
With  blossoms  encircle  her  brow. 

Our  Lord's  Holy  Name  morn  and  even 
We  '11  breathe  bowing  low  at  His  feet ; 


JESUS  AND  MARY.  115 

At  the  shrine  of  our  Mother  in  heaven, 
"  Hail,  Mary,"  we  '11  softly  repeat. 

O  how  sweet  is  the  hour  when  we  hover 

Round  these  two  hearts  bound  fondly  in  one  ! 

With  the  Son  venerating  the  Mother  — 
With  the  Mother  adoring  the  Son. 


This  poem  was  suggested  by  reading  in  the  Catholic 
Herald,  of  May  loth,  that  an  entertainment  had  been 
given  under  the  auspices  of  the  Holy  Name  Society,  the 
proceeds  to  go  toward  the  placing  of  a  shrine  dedicated 
to  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Blessed  Sac 
rament,  Holy  Cross  Cathedral,  Boston. 


n6 


THE  THREE  KISSES. 

I  held  a  little  child 

Within  mine  arms  to-night ; 
The  deep  blue  eyes  unclosed 

'Neath  morning's  golden  light. 
I  pressed  a  loving  kiss 

Upon  the  infant  brow, 
And  whispered  :  "  There  is  born 

To  earth  a  young  life  now." 

I  held  the  little  child 

Within  mine  arms  to-night ; 
The  deep  blue  eyes  unclosed 

Beneath  the  taper's  light. 


THE    THREE  KISSES.  117 

I  pressed  a  loving  kiss 

Upon  the  moistened  brow, 
And  whispered  :  "  There  is  born 

An  heir  to  heaven  now." 

I  lay  the  little  child 

Within  a  casket  white  ; 
The  deep  blue  eyes  are  closed 

To  all  save  heaven's  light. 
I  press  a  loving  kiss 

Upon  the  pure,  white  brow, 
And  whisper:  "There  is  born 

To  God  an  angel  now." 


^. 

W 


ON  A  PICTURE  OF  ST.  MARY  MAGDALEN. 

A  youthful  face,  surpassing  pure  and  sweet, 

Tenderly  bending  o'er  two  wounded  feet ; 

Lips  pressed  in  bleeding  wounds  wide  gaping  there 

Red  blood-drops  gleam,  each  one  a  precious  gem, 

Cased  in  rare  setting  —  a  bright  diadem 

Of  glinting,  glistening  golden  hair. 

Portrayed,  dear  Saint,  I  see  thee  when 
Thou  wast  where  I  would  fain  have  been, 
O  Magdalen  !  sweet  Magdalen  ! 

Oh  !  to  caress  with  quivering  lips  of  mine 
Those  blessed  wounds  in  tortured  feet  divine  ! 
And  oh  !  to  feel  the  blood-drops  trickling  down 
From*thorn-crowned  Head,  nail-pierced  Hands, 

and  Heart 

Rent  by  the  cruel  spear-thrust  wide  apart ! 
Ah  me  !  to  wear  thy  precious,  priceless  crown  !  — 


ON  A  PICTURE  OF  ST.   MARY  MAGDALEN.    119 

Vain  wish  !  for  how  or  where  or  when 
Can  I  e'er  be  where  thou  wast  then, 
Sweet  Magdalen  !  Saint  Magdalen  ! 

O  soul  of  mine  !  this  wish  why  breathest  thou? 
In  Love's  tribunal  humbly  contrite  bow : 
Tell  thy  transgressions,  many  tho'  they  be  ; 
And  the  red  drops  again  will  trickle  down, 
'Til  Mary  Magdalen's  rare  jewelled  crown 
Of  precious  Lifeblood  gently  circles  thee. 

Ah  !  thou  canst  softly  whisper  then  : 

"  Behold  am  I  where  thou  hast  been, 

Sweet  Magdalen !  Saint  Magdalen  !  " 

O  lips  of  mine  !  the  holiest  caress 
On  feet  divine,  nail-wounded,  ye  may  press 
Whene'er  a  pure  white  Host  to  me  doth  come  : 
For  He  who  bled  and  died  on  Calvary's  Tree 
Still  bleeds  and  lives  ! —  O  tender  mystery 
Of  life  divine  in  Love's  Ciborium! 

0  joy  transcending  earth's  joy,  when 

1  kneel  entranced  where  thou  hast  been, 

Sweet  Magdalen  !    Saint  Magdalen  ! 


120 


THE  BURDEN  OF  THE  DAY. 

O  when  we  face  some  trying  hour  before  us, 
And  feel  the  press  of  care  on  every  side ; 

Behold  the  sky  of  life  storm-clouded  o'er  us, 
And  hear  the  rolling,  rumbling,  ebbless  tide 

Of  wearing  daily  toil  that  never  ceases, 
Dulling  the  soul  with  its  monotony ; 

When  hope  dies  out  and  gloom  of  heart  increases, 
Ah,  then,  dear  Lord,  if  we  would  cry  to  thee, 

And,  toiling  still  at  some  appointed  labor, 
In  spirit  rest  upon  thy  Sacred  Heart, 

Lo !     Calvary   Thou   would'st   change  for  us    to 

Tabor, 
And  of  our  burdens  bear  the  heavy  part. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  THE  DAY, 


But  no  !  in  every  hour  of  petty  tribulation 
Unceasingly  the  soul  complains  and  frets  : 

In  peace  learns  how  to  wrestle  with  temptation, 
But  when  it  comes  the  lesson  learn'd  forgets. 

Why  this  lament :  "  We  've  no  time  for  devotion  "  ? 

With  pure  intention  work  becomes  a  prayer ; 
Each    trying    thought    worth    more    than    sweet 
emotion ; 

Each  weary  step  a  shining  heavenward  stair. 


THE  HAVEN  OF  THE  SACRED  HEART. 

Spake  one  morn  our  dear  Redeemer. 

Eighteen  happy  years  ago, 
Child,  give  Me  thy  heart,  —  Mine  ever,  — 

Sweet  His  voice  and  soft  and  low. 

The  young  novice  near  the  altar, 

Coifed  and  veiled,  the  whisper  heard, 

And  her  soul  in  rapture  thrilling, 
(Timid,  happy,  startled  bird  !) 

Breaking  free  from  worldly  fetters, 
Nestled  in  the  Sacred  Heart  — 

There  to  dwell  for  years, — forever! 
Hers  indeed  the  "  better  part." 


THE  HAVEN  OF  THE  SACRED  HEART.       123 

What  tho'  fiercely  rage  life's  tempest, 

Bitter  round  her  beat  the  storm  ? 
Naught  hath  she  to  fear  of  danger 

In  that  haven  safe  and  warm! 

Why  do  we  to-day,  dear  Mother, 

Gather  round  thee  one  and  all? 
Why  this  youthful,  white-veiled  novice    , 

Do  we  lovingly  recall  ?     • 

Ah !  't  was  thou,  dear  Reverend  Mother, 

On  that  morn  so  long  ago, 
Didst  hear  in  Mount  St.  Mary's  Chapel 

That  sweet  whisper  soft  and  low. 

What  tho'  eighteen  years  have  vanished 

Since  with  holiest  delight 
On  the  morn  of  thy  profession 

Thou  didst  wing  a  hallowed  flight  ? 

Thou  hast  only  penetrated 
Deeper  in  the  sweet  recess 


124       THE  HAVEN  OF  THE  SACRED  HEART. 

Of  the  Heart  divine  that  loves  thee 
With  surpassing  tenderness. 

Ah,  dear  Mother !  we  thy  children 

This  glad  anniversary 
Thro'  the  gentle  Queen  of  heaven 

Crave  the  choicest  gifts  for  thee. 

At  the  shrine  of  thy  dear  patron, 
E'er  we  chime  our  festive  lay, 

Plead  we  softly  :  "  Saint  Teresa, 
Bless  our  Mother  dear  to-day." 

Breathe  we  then  unto  another 
Faithful  handmaid  of  the  Lord  : 

"  From  thy  happy  home  in  heaven 

Bless  thy  child,  dear  Mother  Warde  !  " 

Long,  long  years,  we  pray,  dear  Mother, 

God  to  spare  thee  unto  us, 
For  thou  art  a  tender  parent, 

Gentle,  firm,  solicitous. 


THE  HAVEN  OF  THE  SACRED  HEART.       125 

Fear  we  not  for  thee  life's  dangers  ? 

Nay :  thy  sweet  profession  vows 
Anchor  thee  safe  in  the  haven 

Of  the  Heart  of  Christ  thy  Spouse. 


126 


HIDDEN  LIVES. 

Methinks  there  are  no  sweeter  flowers 

Than  humble  violets  chaste  and  fair,   / 

Deep  hidden  in  the  waving  grass, 

We  scarce  would  know  them  blooming  there, 

Save  by  the  perfume  pure  and  sweet 

We  cannot  crush  beneath  our  feet. 

'T  is  thus  the  purest  souls  on  earth  - 
Are  hidden  'neath  an  humble  guise  ; 
Their  heaven-born  innocence  would  shrink 
Beneath  the  gaze  of  worldly  eyes. 
And  yet  the  virtue-laden  air 
Reveals  them  hidden  everywhere. 


HIDDEN  LIVES.  127 


And  we  so  seldom  strive  to  find 
These  purest  souls  amid  the  rest ; 
But  One  there  is  who  knows  them  all 
And  loves  the  deepest  hidden  best. 
We  pass  them  by  and  seek  them  not, — 
Pure  souls  by  all  save  God  forgot ! 

Yet  't  is  'mid  these  that  all  would  seek 
For  truest  friends,  did  they  but  know, 
The  value  of  an  humble  soul, 
More  rare  the  more  't  is  hid  below. 
Like  violets  'mid  the  grasses  twined,  — 
'T  is  only  they  who  seek  that  find. 


128 


THE  "AVE  MARIA." 

There  's  a  little  blue-robed  messenger 

We  greet  with  glad  delight : 
It  comes  to  us  from  Notre  Dame 

Upon  our  Lady's  Night. 

Coming  always  how  silently ! 

Exhaling  everywhere 
The  perfume  of  celestial  flowers 

Of  peace  and  love  and  prayer. 

It  bears  the  news  of  every  land, 

And  cheers  us  many  a  day 
With  pure  sweet  song  and  stories  quaint, 

Told  in  a  charming  way ; 


THE  "AVE  MARIA."  129 

Our  Virgin  Mother's  praise  repeats, 

And  oft,  with  holy  art, 
Portrays  the  wondrous  power  and  love 

Of  Jesus'  Sacred  Heart. 

And  oh  !  this  little  messenger 

That  Mary's  color  wears, 
From  Pontiff  hands  to  Christian  hearts 

A  special  blessing  bears. 

And  day  by  day  at  Notre  Dame, 

(O  boon  we  dearly  prize  !) 
The  Spotless  Victim  is  upraised 

In  the  Holy  Sacrifice, 

For  every  heart  the  wide  world  o'er 

That  greets  with  glad  delight 
The  little  blue-robed  messenger 

Coming  on  Lady-Night. 


I30 


GATHERED  LEAVES. 

They  are  rustling  'mongst  the  branches, 

They  are  gently  falling  round  ; 
In  their  rich  autumnal  beauty, 

They  are  resting  on  the  ground ; 
Let  us  gather  and  preserve  them, 

In  the  future  years  we  '11  know 
How  to  cherish  each  remembrance 

Of  the  happy  "  Long  Ago." 

They  are  falling  down  from  ages, 
Slumbering  'neath  the  wing  of  time, 

Leaves  that  glow  with  deepest  beauty, 
Holy  lives  and  deeds  sublime  ; 


GATHERED  LEAVES.  131 

If  we  gather  and  preserve  them, 

Trace  our  leaves  of  life  the  same, 
They  will  wear  a  lasting  beauty, 

Though  they  never  glow  in  fame. 

They  are  falling  down  from  Calvary, 

Falling  ever  night  and  day ; 
Scattering  their  rich  profusion 

All  along  our  earthly  way. 
Blood-stained  leaves  !  for  life  is  given  them 

From  a  bleeding  Heart  of  love  : 
Leaves  of  Grace  are  ever  falling 

From  the  tree  of  Life  above. 

Soon  will  beauteous  leaves  of  autumn 

Lie  beneath  their  snowy  pall ; 
And  ere  long  Death's  shrouding  mantle 

Will  like  snows  of  winter  fall ; 
Then  we  cannot  grasp  the  treasures 

God  has  showered  on  us  to-day ; 
Let  us  gather  and  preserve  them  — 

Heaven's  blessings  —  while  we  may. 


132  GATHERED  LEAVES. 

When  the  sleep  of  Death  is  broken, 

And  we  wake  in  Paradise, 
All  the  leaves  of  grace  we  've  gathered 

We  shall  learn  to  dearly  prize  ; 
When  the  soul  her  heavenly  garland 

From  the  hand  of  God  receives, 
And  beholds  in  lasting  beauty 

There  entwined  her  "  Gathered  Leaves.' 


'33 


IN  HEAVEN. 

Silently,  sweetly,  the  angel  of  death 
Hovering  over  us,  with  his  soft  breath 
Soothed  unto  slumber  a  suffering  child, 
Sleeping  she  dreamed  and  dreaming  she  smiled : 
Angel  hands  bore  her  in  slumber  away, 
Leaving  fond  hearts  in  deep  sorrow  to-day. 

Waken  !  sad  hearts  from  deep  sorrow  awaken  ! 
Never  in  wrath  little  children  are  taken. 
They  are  not  dead  nor  so  long  are  they  sleeping, 
They  are  rejoicing  in  Jesus'  fond  keeping. 
Sheltered  forever  from  sorrow  and  strife, 
Angels  of  death  have  a  mission  of  life. 


134 


A  NAME. 

TO  FATHER  EDMUND,  OF  THE  HEART  OF  MARY. 

A  name  they  gave  thee  that  is  grand  and  sweet 
The  Heart  of  Mary  our  bright  Virgin  Queen. 
No  human  name  more  pure  can  lips  repeat  — 
Save  Jesus'  own  none  holier  e'er  hath  been. 
Her  love  shall  be  a  guiding  star  serene 
Till  the  dread  voyage  of  the  soul  is  o'er ; 
Her  name  a  passport  unto  heaven,  I  ween, 
When  thou  art  anchored  on  the  golden  shore, 
Her  Heart  a  haven  of  sweet  rest  forever  more. 


'35 


HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

BORN  FEB.  27,   1807,  DIED  MARCH  24,   1882. 

Seasons  come  and  seasons  vanish,  swiftly  bearing  years 
away, 

'Til  again  a  pure  life's  closing  we  commemorate  to 
day. 

Let  the  great,  good   man  be   honored,  let   his   name 

remembered  be. 
With  a  fair   and   fragrant  garland   let   us   crown   his 

memory. 

Cull  the  flowers  of  pure  affection  blooming  in  fond 
memory's  dell, 


136  HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

Weave  them  into  tender  stanzas  of  sweet  song  he  loved 
so  well. 

Ne'er  hast  thou  had  truer   lover,  Forest   City  by  the 

sea! 
Never  yet  hath  sweeter  singer  sung  thy  praises  than 

was  he. 

O  he  won  for  thee  proud  laurels,  laurels  of  a  lasting 

fame  ; 
And  he  set  in  priceless  setting  the  bright  jewel  of  thy 

name  ; 

Sweetly  sung  of  thy  warm  sunshine,  of  thy  forests  cool 

and  dim ;  — 
How  hast  thou,  fair  Forest  City,  how  hast  thou  rewarded 

him  ? 


What  shall  tell  thro'  coming  ages  to  the  lovers  of  his 

song, 
That  upon  thy  cool  sea  breezes,  Nature  bore  his  youth 

along  ? 


HENRY   W.   LONGFELLOW.  137 

Forest  City,  Forest  City,  nations  stand  with  eyes  on 

thee! 
Take  earth's  rare  and  virgin  metal,  mould  a  statue  fair 

to  see. 

Trust  not  unto  any  morrow,  time  is  flying,  wings  out 
spread  ; 

"Act,  act  in  the  living  present,  heart  within  and  God 
o'er-head." 

And  a  cenotaph  of  glory  in  his  boyhood's  home  will 

rise, 
It  will  tell  the  grand  old  story,  that  a  poet  never  dies ! 

PORTLAND,  MAINE,  March  24,  1885. 


136  HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

Weave  them  into  tender  stanzas  of  sweet  song  he  loved 
so  well. 

Ne'er  hast  thou  had  truer  lover,  Forest   City  by  the 

sea ! 
Never  yet  hath  sweeter  singer  sung  thy  praises  than 

was  he. 

O  he  won  for  thee  proud  laurels,  laurels  of  a  lasting 

fame  ; 
And  he  set  in  priceless  setting  the  bright  jewel  of  thy 

name ; 

Sweetly  sung  of  thy  warm  sunshine,  of  thy  forests  cool 

and  dim ;  — 
How  hast  thou,  fair  Forest  City,  how  hast  thou  rewarded 

him? 


What  shall  tell  thro'  coming  ages  to  the  lovers  of  his 

song, 
That  upon  thy  cool  sea  breezes,  Nature  bore  his  youth 

along? 


HENRY   W.   LONGFELLOW.  137 

Forest  City,  Forest  City,  nations  stand  with  eyes  on 

thee! 
Take  earth's  rare  and  virgin  metal,  mould  a  statue  fair 

to  see. 

Trust  not  unto  any  morrow,  time  is  flying,  wings  out 
spread  ; 

"Act,  act  in  the  living  present,  heart  within  and  God 
o'er-head." 

And  a  cenotaph  of  glory  in  his  boyhood's  home  will 

rise, 
It  will  tell  the  grand  old  story,  that  a  poet  never  dies  ! 

PORTLAND,  MAINE,  March  24,  1885. 


138 


AN  EVENING  VISIT  TO  THE  BLESSED 
SACRAMENT. 

From  golden  threads  of  sunset,  night  is  weaving 
A  starry  mantle  for  the  land  and  sea ; 

Unto  the  soul  a  spirit  voice  is  breathing 

In  whisper  low  and  sweet,  "  Come  unto  Me." 

O  let  us  follow  in  the  hush  of  even  : 

'T  will  lead  us  to  a  chapel  quaint  and  fair, 

Where  we  may  breathe  awhile  the  breath  of  heaven, 
For  Jesus,  in  the  Eucharist,  is  there. 

'T  is  sweet,  the  love  of  our  dear  Lord  possessing, 
Our  tales  of  joy  and  sorrow  to  repeat ;. 

But  sweeter  far  to  crave  His  tender  blessing 
And,  self  forgotten,  rest  at  His  dear  feet. 


VISIT  TO   THE  BLESSED  SACRAMENT.        139 

Why  seek  for  words  in  moments  of  devotion, 
When  holy  silence  in  itself  is  prayer  ? 

Why  strive  to  stay  the  tide  of  sweet  emotion  ? 
'T  will  bear  us  nearer  Jesus  hidden  there. 

See  yonder  cross  !  It  marks  His  earthly  dwelling  ; 

We  Ve  gained  the  portal  —  yet  a  moment  stay  !  — 
O  that  our  hearts  all  worldliness  expelling, 

Worthy  might  be,  to  love,  and  thank,  and  pray  ! 

Nature  upon  her  sable  couch  reclining, 

Wrapped  in  her  starry  mantle,  calmly  sleeps ; 

Yet  in  our  midst  the  light  of  love  is  shining,  — 
Jesus,  our  Lord,  His  loving  vigil  keeps  ! 

See  !  in  the  gloom  one  little  lamp  is  burning  ; 

Its  trembling  beams  speak  to  our  hearts  of  Him  ! 
Come,  let  us  enter,  rilled  with  tender  yearning  ; 

Adoring  with  the  unseen  seraphim. 

Sweet  Heart  of  Jesus  !     Art  Thou  sad  and  lonely 
Within  Thine  humble  altar  home  to-night  ? 


140         VISIT  TO   THE  BLESSED  SACRAMENT. 

O  that  our  hearts  might  burn  for  Thee,  Thee  only, 
As  burns  the  faithful  Sanctuary  light ! 

O  that  our  souls  all  earthly  things'forsaking 
Might  enter  through  yon  tabernacle  door, 

And  rest  in  Thee,  dear  Sacred  Heart !   partaking 
Of  Eucharistic  love  forevermore ! 


THE  FACT  DIVINE. 


AN       HISTORICAL.      STUDY      OF      THE 

CHRISTIAN   REVELATION  AND  OF 

THE    CATHOLIC  CHURCH. 

BY  Joseph  Br0eckaert,  S.  JL 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE    FRENCH    BY    EDMUND    J.  A.  YOUNG.      12   mo. 
304  pp.     PBICE  §1.25, 

Sent  by  mail  on  receipt  of  price. 


Published  with  the  Approbation  of  the  Rt.  Rev.  James  A. 
Eealy,  Bishop  of  Portland,  Maine. 


CONTENTS. 

PART  FIRST  —  THB  CHRISTIAN  REVELATION. 

Definition  of  Revelation.  —  Sources  of  the  Primitive  Revelation.  —  The 
Author  of  Revelation.  —  The  Origin  and  Dignity  of  Man.  —  The  Fall  of 
Man. —The  Promise  of  a  Redeemer. —  The  People  of  God.  —  Positive 
Divine  Law.  —  Explicit  Promise  of  the  Expected  Redeemer.  —  Fignres  of 
the  Future  Redeemer.  —  The  Propheta  of  the  People  of  God.  —  Different 
Predictions  of  the  Ancient  Prophets.  —  Grand  Prophecies  Concerning  the 
Messias.  —  Prophetic  details  concerning  the  Messias.  —  The  Accomplish 
ment  of  the  Prophecies.  —  Divine  Mission  of  Jeans  Christ.  — The  Divinity 
of  Jesus  Christ.  —  Conclusion  of  Part  First. 

PART  SECOND  — THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH. 

Introduction.  —  Organization  of  the  Infant  Church.  —  Establishment  of 
the  Spiritual  Authority.  —  Seat  of  Religious  Authority.  —  Prerogatives  of 
the  Authority  Established  by  Jesus  Christ.  —  The  Two-fold  Deposit  Com 
mitted  to  the  Church.  —  Extension  of  the  Church.  —  The  Martyrs.  —  Interior 
of  the  Primitive  Church.  —  Heresies.  —  Councils.  —  The  Holy  Fathers. 
Religious  Orders.  —  Social  Influence  of  the  Church.  —  Relations  of  the 
Two  Powers.  —  The  Crusades.  —  Schism  of  the  "West.  —  Inquisition  and 
Toleration.  —  Protestantism.  —  Compensations.  —  Modern  Philosophy.  — 
Present  State  of  the  Church. 


McGOWAN    &    YOUNG, 

PORTLAND,  ME. 

[For  opinions  of  the  Press  see  following  pages.] 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

It  is  one  of  those  works  that  are  of  special  value  in  these  days  of 
rampant  unbelief  and  infidelity.  It  is  clear  and  concise,  and  well 
suited  for  young  students. — Brooklyn  Examiner. 

The  latest  objections  against  the  Christian  Faith  are  answered 
conclusively.  The  careful  reading  of  "  The  Fact  Divine  "  will  for 
tify  the  Catholic  against  the  errors  of  the  day,  and  enable  him  to  give 
solid  reasons  for  the  faith  that  is  in  him. — Catholic  Universe. 

The  work  is  designed  for  the  use  of  the  higher  classes  in  col 
leges,  the  author  being  devoted  to  education  for  the  greater  part 
of  his  life,  but  it  will  be  found  not  only  useful  but,  we  earnestly 
hope,  acceptable  to  the  general  public,  and  particularly  to  the 
Catholic  public.  There  is  no  lack  of  works  of  the  highest  and 
best  on  such  matters  as  are  treated  of  in  this  book,  but  "  THE 
FACT  DIVINE"  WILL  BE  FOUND  TO  STAND  AT  THE 
HEAD  OF  ALL.  It-  is  divided  into  two  parts  :  The  Christian 
Revelation  and  The  Catholic  Church.  The  author  starts  out  with 
a  definition  of  Revelation,  which  forms  the  foundation  of  the 
grand  superstructure  which  he  continues  to  build  on  that  founda 
tion.  Step  by  step  he  combats  the  false  philosophies  of  the 
world,  and  with  trenchant  blows  demolishes  the  theories  and  specula 
tions  of  the  sophists  of  the  liberal  modern  school.  The  work  of 
translation  is  well  and  faithfully  performed,  so  well  indeed  that  it 
reads  as  smoothly  as  if  originally  written  in  the  English  language. 
The  publishers  have  done  their  part  well  in  bringing  out  the  book 
in  a  neat  and  substantial  form. — Catholic  Herald. 

What  is  this  "  Fact  Divine  "  but  the  Divinity  of  Religion,  of 
Christian  Revelation,  of  the  authority  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
through  the  Divinity  of  its  Founder  Jesus  Christ.  This  book 
before  us,  bearing  the  above  title,  is  a  brief  but  convincing  expla 
nation  of  Revelation,  which,  without  assuming  a  controversial 
form,  conclusively  answers  all,  even  the  newest  objections  against 
the  Christian  Faith.  Mr.  Young's  translation  of  "  The  Fact 
Divine  "  is  exceedingly  well  done.  We  are  confident  that  great 
spiritual  good  will  follow  on  its  dissemination. — Boston  Pilot. 


So  with  the  work  before  us.  The  fact  it  speaks  of  is  as  old  as 
Christianity,  nay,  in  one  sense  as  old  as  Adam  and  the  Fall;  the 
proofs  it  alleges  are  to  be  found  in  most  treatises  of  apologetic 
theology  ;  and  yet  there  is  throughout  The  Fact  Divine  a  unity  of 
purpose,  and  a  freshness  and  vigour  of  treatment  that  make 
these  old  things  look  what  they  really  are,  forever  new.  While 
never  at  a  loss  for  an  answer  to  the  sophistry  of  infidels,  Father 
Broeckaert  is  continually  insisting  on  the  stubbornness  of  facts.  . 
...  In  historical  perspective  the  author  is  a  master.  He  holds 
the  sure  thread  through  the  labyrinth  of  ancient  and  modern  his 
tory,  and  more  fortunate  than  the  hero  in  the  fable,  he  is  not 
groping  in  the  dark,  nor  trembling  for  the  snapping  of  the  clue. 
In  his  hands  the  thread  is  as  strong  as  steel,  and  luminous  with 
Divine  light.  The  reading  of  his  chapters  on  the  figures  and 
prophecies  of  the  Old  Testament  opens  out  a  far  truer  and 
deeper  knowledge  of  those  sacred  books  than  can  be  gleaned 
from  the  voluminous  commentaries  of  writers  of  the  rationalistic 
school.  They  have  fragmentary,  tentative  views;  he  has  the 
pregnant  brevity  of  truth. —  The  Month.  London. 

The  Fact  Divine  is  an  admirably  concise  and  clear  statement  of 
the  evidences  of  Revelation.  As  its  name  implies,  it  deals  chiefly 
with  the  events  which  put  beyond  all  question  the  heavenly  origin 
of  our  religion.  Into  these  it  inquires,  and  establishes  by  plain, 
yet  telling  arguments,  their  authenticity.  In  a  short  notice  like 
the  present  it  is  impossible  to  say  all  that  we  would  wish  about 
the  book.  Written  in  French  by  Father  Broeckaert,  a  Belgian 
Jesuit,  the  translation  before  us  is  the  work  of  a  distinguished 
American,  who  has  well  executed  his  task. — Irish  Ecclesiastical 
Record. 

It  is  a  work  which  will  interest  Protestants  as  well  as  Catholics ; 
the  first  part  is  the  common  ground  of  all  Christians.  The  Rt. 
Rev.  Bp.  Healy  commends  the  translation,  and  indeed  it  com 
mends  itself,  being  everywhere  clear,  perspicuous,  and  obviously 
intelligent  and  faithful.— Portland  Advertiser. 


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